The Crowded Shadows (5 page)

Razi went to scour their bowls while Christopher carefully split an apple in three. “Here,” he said, holding Wynter’s segment out to her. She reached for it and their eyes met. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded gratefully. “Aye.”

He looked her up and down uncertainly, released her portion of the apple and looked away. Razi returned and sat cross-legged on his bedroll, his sewing kit in his hand. Christopher tossed him his third of the apple and Razi caught it neatly.

“It’s the last one,” said Christopher, lying back against his saddle and looking up into the trees. The horses shifted quietly in the gathering gloom. Wynter sighed and bit into her apple; it was good juicy and sharp.

“What are you doing here, Wynter?” Razi’s deep voice was grudging, and he did not look up from sewing the hole in his britches.

“Same as you, Razi. I’m heading for Alberon’s camp to see what he is up to.”

Christopher snorted. “Good luck finding it. We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of aught since we set off. We’ve been chasing our bloody tails this last week. Those buggers over there were the first sign we’d found since we trotted into this forest. You know something, Razi,” he mused, picking apple-skin from his teeth. “I think that Comberman spy back at the palace was pulling your tail. Your brother’s nowhere near here.”

Wynter sat up straight. “Don’t you know where he is?” she exclaimed, a little seed of excitement growing in her chest.

“No, Wynter, we do not,” said Razi, snapping off his thread. He grimaced sarcastically at her as he put his needle away. “Do you?”

Wynter grinned at him and Razi’s eyes widened. Christopher propped himself on his elbow.

“Good God!” said Razi, and he actually started to grin. “Wynter, are you serious?”

Wynter told her friends about Isaac’s ghost and the Indirie Valley. She told them about her encounter with the Combermen and the Haun, and their remarks about the Rebel Prince. By the time she was finished it had come on to night. An almost full moon filtered down through the trees, and it gave the silently listening men the air of watchful spectres in the gloom.

“The Indirie Valley,” murmured Christopher. “We’ll have to ponder our maps tomorrow, friend.”

“But
I
know the route,” said Wynter. “There’s another ten days journey left.”

The pale smudge that was Christopher’s face bobbed as he nodded his understanding.

“Haunardii,” whispered Razi. With his dark skin and clothes, he was almost completely invisible, but Wynter could see his eyes flashing as he lifted them to look at her. “Oh sis, what is he thinking?”

“I know,” she said softly. “Bad enough the Combermen, after everything our fathers have done to rid this place of intolerance… but the Haunardii? What does Alberon expect will happen if he tries to wrest the throne from Jonathon with those allies? The people will revolt against him. There’s still too much bitterness left after The Haun Invasion. Also…” she paused. “Also Razi, there is the matter of my father’s invention. This machine of his. This Bloody Machine.”

Wynter barely made out the movement as Razi lifted his hand and ran it across his eyes. Christopher shifted quietly against his bedroll.

“Do you know anything about it?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Only that my father seems to fear it. And my brother seems in some way to have gained control of it.”

“Dad… Dad was brought to his knees at the thoughts of its use, Razi. Whatever it is, the mere mention of it tore him apart. It seems as though our fathers had used it before, at the end of the Haun invasion.”

“Aye,” whispered Razi. “Just before the Lost Hundred were expelled from the Kingdom.” He glanced at Christopher. “You recall my telling you of the Lost Hundred, Chris? The Haun nobles and businessmen, expelled with the rest of their race at the end of the war?”

Christopher shrugged in the dim light as if he had forgotten, or hadn’t paid much attention at the time.

“From what I could make out, our fathers agreed to suppress the machine after its first use,” said Wynter. “I don’t know why.”

“And now your brother is using it to threaten the crown,” said Christopher. “Looks like your father weren’t quite as lunatic as he seemed, Razi.”

“Good God,” sighed Razi. There was a rustle as he lay back against his saddle and put his hands to his face. “My bloody family.”

Wynter looked down at her hands, ghostly starfish against the darkness of her crossed legs. She debated for a moment and then said quietly, “Did you see the cavalry, Razi? Did you see their pennants?”

There was a heavy silence.

“Razi?” she said.

“Aye,” he said, “I saw them.”

“What do you think…?”

“Wynter?” His voice was utterly weary. “Could we… could we leave that until tomorrow?”

There was another moment of heavy silence.

“I’ll take first watch,” said Christopher, slapping his hand lightly against his thigh. He gathered his cloak around him and sat back against his saddle.

“Aye,” sighed Razi. “Thank you, Christopher. Call me when the moon is at its zenith and I’ll take the next watch.”

“Call him when the moon reaches its first third, Christopher. I’ll take the watch after him.”

Razi snorted in impatience. “You’ll do no such—”

“All right, girly,” said Christopher. “Razi will go after me, you go after Razi. It’ll do us good to get more sleep.”

Razi lifted his head and gave them both what Wynter took to be a glare. “Good
God
,” he growled. “I should have you both flogged for insubordination!” He turned his back on them, settling grouchily against his saddle.

Wynter grinned at Christopher. He was watching her, his face unreadable in the poor light.

“Go to sleep,” he said quietly.

She was suddenly so grateful to him that it almost turned to tears. “Good night, Christopher. I’m glad we all found each other again.”

She heard him swallow. “Aye,” he said. “Now go to sleep, girly. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The bandit found her again, his laughter filling the darkness. This time she tore his throat, ripping his flesh with fangs she hadn’t known she possessed. As she sank her teeth into his neck and his blood filled her mouth—hot, sweet and delicious—something inside her screamed in despair. But she no longer cared. She had given in at last, and there was nothing left in her now but hate.

“Girly…” A gentle hand on her forehead brushed lightly at her hair. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s all right.” Wynter opened her eyes, and Christopher smiled, his face hovering over her in the dark. “You were whimpering in your sleep,” he said. “Were you in a bad place?”

Despite his smiling face, the dream would not leave her, and Wynter had to cover her mouth with her hands to keep the horror and the fear inside. Christopher’s gentle smile fled as he read her expression. Snatching her to him suddenly, he held her against his chest, his scarred hand covering her eyes as though he wanted to hide her. Wynter knotted her fists into his undershirt and tried to bury herself in him.

“Oh God,” he moaned. “Who hurt you? Who
hurt
you? I’ll kill them! I swear it.”

Wynter shook her head. She would not tell him. She could not, and despite the comfort she found in him, she pushed away. Christopher kept his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face and she shrugged him off.

“It was just a dream, Christopher. Do not worry.”

He took her hand, but she would not look at him.

He tilted his head and ducked to catch her eye. “Wyn,” he said softly.

“It was just a dream!” she insisted. “It’s just a
dream
,” and she buried her face in her hands and curled her head onto her knees.

Wynter hoped Christopher would just go, but when he put his arm across her shoulders and pulled her to him again, she surprised herself by not pulling away. And when he continued just to sit beside her, his chin resting on her hair, rocking her gently in the quiet night, she felt overwhelmingly grateful for his presence.

Somehow she found herself holding his hand again.

“Christopher,” she whispered, “please don’t tell anyone…”

Christopher said nothing when she told him about the poor merchant. He did nothing but continue to rock her gently as she spoke about that man’s hot look across the bright water of the stream, and about how he had followed her and attacked her and haunted her dreams afterwards. He didn’t draw away or show any anger, or make any comment at all. At the end, when he was certain that she was finished, he tilted his head against her hair and looked down at her.

“Are you all right now, sweetheart?”

She nodded against his chest. “Aye.”

“Will you be able to sleep?”

She nodded again and Christopher tilted his face up to the moonlit canopy and sighed. “This bloody world,” he said softly. Then he kissed her hair, pressed his forehead to her shoulder, and got up to rouse Razi for his watch.

It took quite an effort to wake the poor man.

Wynter wrapped herself tightly in her cloak and listened to them moving about in the dark. Razi coughed and stretched, and went behind a tree to piss. He pottered around the edges of camp, checking the horses and stretching his legs. She heard Christopher yawn; there were soft sounds as he settled down for the night. Eventually, he was lost in silence for a while. Wynter could just see his pale face glowing in the corner of her eye.

“Christopher?” she whispered.

“Aye?”

She lay quietly for a moment, uncertain. Then she got to her feet, her cloak wrapped around her. She saw Christopher’s eyes follow her as she crossed the camp.

Razi called softly from the dark. “Are you all right, sis?”

She smiled at him, though she knew he wouldn’t see it in this light. “I’m fine, Razi. Thank you.” She shuffled around behind Christopher, and he turned his head to look up into her face. “Is it all right?” she asked, gesturing to his bedroll.

He nodded wordlessly, still gazing up at her. Wynter hesitated, then lay down beside him. Christopher tensed for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, then he turned his back to her, as he had on their last night together. Wynter pulled herself in close, looped her arm across his waist, and rested her forehead against his back. Behind them, Razi was motionless in the shadows.

Wynter closed her eyes. Christopher took her hand. Razi went back to checking on the horses.

“Y
ou have no right to ask that of us.” Christopher’s lilting voice, speaking quietly nearby.

Wynter opened her eyes to pale pre-dawn light. She blinked slowly into the dimness, orienting herself. She was lying with her back to the camp, facing out into the trees, and it took a moment to remember that she had come across in the night to share Christopher’s bedroll. She felt her cheeks grow hot at the memory and at the same time she realised that Razi hadn’t woken her for her watch. She was just about to turn and give him a piece of her mind when his deep voice stilled her.

“It is what I want,” he said.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” countered Christopher mildly. “But that’s beside the point. Don’t ask it again.”

“Chris…”

“She will not leave, and I will not attempt to persuade her. She is a full grown woman, Razi. She has her own mind.”

“She is
fifteen
years old,” exclaimed Razi, his voice pitched low so as not to wake her.

“You were negotiating your father’s business in Algiers at fourteen.” Christopher was stirring a pot, or scouring a bowl, and though his voice was still mild, the grating sound of his activity grew louder in agitation.

“I am different!”

The sound of stirring paused. “How are you different? Because you have that pudding between your legs, is it?”

“Christopher! Do not be crude!”

“She is a
full-grown woman
…”

“So you seem determined to point out.”

Wynter thought she heard amusement in Razi’s voice now, and Christopher resumed his activity, his voice muffled as if he’d ducked his head. “She is strong and brave and quick.”

“Yes, but—”

“She would have gelded you on that hill had her reflexes not been so fast.”

“Chris—”

“She was already heading straight as an arrow for your brother’s camp while we were still sniffing our own arses here in these woods!”

“All right, Chris.” There was a definite smile beginning to creep into Razi’s voice. Wynter could not help but smile herself. Christopher sounded so earnest.

“You cannot always treat her like a baby, she is—”

“A full grown woman. Aye. You’ve said. She is strong and brave and clever. The equivalent of ten strong men.
How
have I not seen this before? Why, with Wynter by our side we shall overthrow the Haun in a day, and convert the rabid Combermen to Islam.” Razi was laughing now, but there was no sting in it.

Christopher muttered an amiable “Oh, shut up,” under his breath.

There was a long moment’s pause. Then Razi murmured softly, “I want you both safe, Chris. This fight is not of your making. I want—”