The Crowded Shadows (51 page)

Wynter gazed up at him.
Go!
she thought.
Go to him
. But at that moment, the rest of the men chose to return, a doe slung between them, their faces glowing in triumph, and Razi turned away, his expression shuttered once more.

Christopher, a brace of hare dangling from his hand, met Wynter’s eyes as he emerged from the shadows. Wynter glanced over at Razi, tightened her mouth and shook her head.
No change
. Christopher grimaced and crossed to hunker by the Merron fire. Grimly, he proceeded to skin his catch. Drawing her knife, Wynter went to crouch with the Merron. She held out her hand and Christopher gave her the still warm body of the other hare.

As she worked, Wynter watched from the corner of her eye as Úlfnaor deposited his bow by the bivouacs and went to check on Sólmundr. The warrior lifted his chin in greeting as his old friend approached, and Úlfnaor squatted by his side, his face tender. He asked a question. Sól nodded, and gasped a reply through gritted teeth, his hands clenching as Hallvor tended his wound. Úlfnaor glanced at Razi, and Wynter saw a moment of grave pleasure cross the Aoire’s face. It was the kind of look a father might give a son who has lived up to his expectations.

“Úlfnaor would like to speak with you.”

Razi grunted and threw the scraps of his meal onto the fire. “We have already planned tomorrow’s journey,” he said, wiping out his bowl. “There’s nothing left to discuss.”

“Úlfnaor has
formally
requested permission to speak with you,” said Christopher. “Are you asking me to go back to the Merron and tell their leader that you are snubbing him?”

Razi gazed at him, and Christopher held his eye. There was a moment of belligerent silence, then Razi broke eye contact and Wynter relaxed, knowing that he would acquiesce. She returned her attention to cleaning out her bowl and did not look up again, not even when Razi said, “Very well,” and Christopher walked away from their side of camp.

She was just putting away the cooking things when Christopher returned, two beakers of hot tea in his hands. “Thanks,” she said, accepting one of the beakers.

Christopher nodded and sat down. Úlfnaor had come over and was standing on the opposite side of the fire, his eyes on Razi. Their friend kept his seat, gazing wordlessly up at the Merron leader, his face cold.

“What does he want, Chris?” murmured Wynter.

Christopher shook his head. He didn’t know.

Úlfnaor gestured to the ground,
may I sit
? Razi gave no indication of consent, but after a moment, the big man took a seat anyway. Ceremoniously laying his sword on the ground behind him, he turned to Razi. “I thank you for your kindness to Sólmundr,” he began. “You a good man, I very grateful.”

Razi did not acknowledge Úlfnaor’s words. Úlfnaor continued, “My people thinked that you would maybe to hurt Sól… out of need to venge yourself for what you believe we done wrong. But I know you would not to do this… not yet.” Razi frowned at that and Úlfnaor smiled in understanding. “The Merron understand the importance of vengeance to honourable person, Tabiyb. We respect it. In order to survive, a good man must kill his enemies, or he die instead. The strong crush the weak. It the way of the world. We know that true justice only come when you feel the blood of your enemy on your own two hands,
nach ea
?” He held out his hands, palms up, as if to show the blood on them. “We understand,” he repeated softly. “It the way of the world.”

Razi lifted his gaze from Úlfnaor’s outstretched hands and met his eye. There was a moment of laden silence.

“I understand you love Embla,” whispered Úlfnaor. “You had
hopes
for her.” Razi’s eyes narrowed and he straightened slowly. This was not a subject he was willing to discuss. “But I must explain to you, you not
see
Embla the way we see her, the way she see herself. She and Ash, they warriors destined for honourable death, holy warriors. They the bridge between the People and
An Domhan
. They die in this new land, so to wake
An Domhan
to our life here, so to ensure that others
not
to die, so that—”

“It is a man’s duty to
protect
the ones he loves,” interrupted Razi quietly, “not to spill their blood in the hope that their deaths will make his life easier.”

Úlfnaor flinched. He stared at Razi for a moment as if looking into an unexpected abyss, then his face hardened and he went on. “Fine words, Tabiyb,” he snapped. “Words worthy of a perfect world. But I think perhaps that a man like you, a man of duty… I think perhaps you understand what it is to sacrifice a friend to bigger things.” His eyes flicked to Christopher, dropped to his mutilated hands.

“What?” cried Christopher, appalled. “I never
…
! Razi, I never said
…”

Razi rose slowly to his feet. “Your time to speak is over, Úlfnaor. We are finished.”

Úlfnaor glared up at him, but Wynter had seen it briefly in the big man’s eyes: the comment about Christopher had been a guess, a wild stab in the dark, and the Aoire was shocked at its impact. She put her hand on Christopher’s arm and he turned to her, his eyes huge.

“Iseult! I never… I wouldn’t
…”

“Shhh,” she said, looking into his eyes, squeezing his arm. “Shhh. I know.”

“I am in earnest, Úlfnaor,” snarled Razi. “You will not use my failings to justify your cowardly, murderous nature. Leave me now, before I do something I will regret.”

“I not try justify nothing to you,” said Úlfnaor. “I try explain that I understand what you
feel
. How it is you must burn to avenge the death of she who might one day be your
croí-eile
.”

Razi continued to stand at rigid attention, the light of the fire wreathing his face with living anger. “I care not a jot for your understanding,” he hissed, “I care not a jot for
you
, Úlfnaor. You are a murderer. A superstitious coward, and were it not for the fact that I
need
you, I would cut your beating heart from your chest and stamp it into the dust beneath my feet. I advise you to leave me be. I advise you leave me
now
, as I am very close to acting on my feelings.”

Úlfnaor seemed to hesitate, his black eyes reflecting the firelight. Then he abruptly shrugged his cloak behind his shoulder and reached to the small of his back. In a flash, Wynter drew her knife, Christopher’s black dagger was in his hand, and the two of them were surging to their feet. But instead of a weapon, Úlfnaor took a familiar package from his belt and held it up for Razi to see. Wynter let herself sink back to the ground.

It was the diplomatic folder.

Razi put his hand out to Christopher. “Sit down,” he said softly.

At the sight of Wynter and Christopher’s weapons, the Merron had drawn their swords, but Hallvor waved her hand and murmured for them to stand down. The warriors subsided into cautious watchfulness. Úlfnaor’s hounds stayed by the healer’s side, as obedient to her as they were to their master. Sólmundr made no attempt to move, just looked at Úlfnaor from his position at the base of the tree, no trace of surprise in his face.

Úlfnaor laid the folder on the stones ringing the fire. “When my people come and say that the Princess Shirken ask me to carry her messages, I think to myself,
why
? Why should it be that this woman, this
…”
He paused, looking down at the package, distaste rising in his face. Wynter had no doubt that there were many words that would best describe Marguerite Shirken running through his head. She could think of a few:
lunatic
, for example,
zealot, blood-soaked murderer. Tyrant
.

Úlfnaor tore his eyes from the package and looked up at Razi. “She who has decorated the trees of our homeland with the heads of the People, why she ask for us to do this very important thing? And not only she ask for
Merron
to carry her message… she ask for
Bear
Merron, Tabiyb. She ask for
me
.” He frowned, searching Razi’s face for signs that he understood.

Razi looked the big man up and down, lifted his eyes to the ring of watchful men and women across the clearing, and then resumed his seat, his face coldly attentive.

“Marguerite Shirken is many things,” said Úlfnaor. “Many, many very
bad
things. But she is excellent good soldier, and she know always her enemy. She know the Merron,” he said quietly, “and she want us gone. We an offence to her just by being alive.” The big man’s eyes widened suddenly at the memory, and he nodded to himself. “So she asked for me,” he whispered. “And I know at once that I to be the instrument of my people’s downfall. I say to the other
Aoirí
, ‘
No!
’ I say to them, ‘
send someone else, one of the other tribes… Hawk, Snake, even Panther
’.” He chopped his hand down, as if once again addressing the other Merron leaders. “
Send someone else…
” he hissed.

“What difference would that have made?” asked Wynter, “to have sent another in your place? Why did she want only you?”

Úlfnaor wiped the heel of his hand under his eye and shook his head silently.

“Because you are of the old religion,” said Christopher.

Úlfnaor nodded, his eyes still bright, and Christopher’s face tightened in bitterness. “Shirken knew that you’d have to make the Bridge,” he said. “Your people would never allow you to bring them into a new land without first waking
An Domhan
to their presence. Shirken knew this, and so she forced your hand. Am I right? She made the other Aoirí send you, knowing that you’d have to sacrifice your Caoirigh, as the old People always must do when crossing to a new place.”

“Also, I think
…”
said Úlfnaor, “I think that, secret in their hearts, the other Aoirí want this to happen. In their hearts
…”
He looked up at Christopher, greatly upset.

“They hoped the blood sacrifice would make things better,” whispered the young man.

Úlfnaor’s face creased up and he nodded.

“So you sit there and tell me that you had no choice? Is that it?” Razi’s words were hissed and low, his voice barely cutting above the sound of the fire. “No choice but to murder two of your own?” He sneered bitterly and shook his head, then he spat into the fire, a sudden, compulsive gesture of contempt.

Úlfnaor took a moment, then drew a deep breath and sat up straight. “I not know how she will manage it,” he said evenly. “But I believe Shirken will somehow make it known to Royal Prince Alberon what it is I must do when we come here. She will use this as excuse to finish her war against the People and when she does…
paf
!” He slapped his hands together. “We will to be caught, Shirken on one side, the armies of Royal Prince Alberon on the other, and in the middle
…”
he dusted his hands, as if wiping away a crushed insect. “The Merron. Destroyed in one final sweep. An entire peoples gone.”

Wynter knew he was right. Beside her Christopher sat leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, staring quietly at the big man. Razi’s expression did not change, and Wynter thought perhaps he didn’t think it such a bad idea that the Merron be swept away, that he might even think it a good thing.

“You could have told her ‘no’,” said Razi. “You could have stayed at home.”

Úlfnaor took in his unyielding expression, and went on. “There was a man,” he said. “He work for your King, as you do. Maybe you to know him? He a good man, he try to do much for the Panther Merron.” Úlfnaor lifted his hand to his head, indicating his hair. “My people called him the Red Hawk.”

This unexpected mention of Lorcan knocked Wynter back, grief stabbing through her chest.

“I told he a big man?” continued Úlfnaor, still trying to describe Lorcan. “Almost big as Merron. He have wide shoulder, much
…”

“I knew the Protector Lord Moorehawke,” snapped Razi sharply. “You are not worthy to speak his name.”

Úlfnaor stared at him, then at Wynter, who averted her glittering eyes. Christopher looked down at his hands, distress evident in his face, and understanding dawned in the big man.

“Oh,” he whispered sadly, “what befell him?”

No one answered. Wynter because she could not. Razi because he would not.

Úlfnaor sighed and nodded. “I sorry that he gone. He good ma—”

“Do
not
…
” hissed Razi. “Do
not
use Lorcan’s name to curry favour with me. I will not tolerate it.”

Úlfnaor looked Razi hard in the face. “The Red Hawk tell my people that in this Kingdom here, justice not only about the strong crushing the weak. He say, that in this Kingdom here, even the weak and even the very low, they can to have justice because the King here, the Good King Jonathon, he make what he call a
Charter of Rights
. Is this the truth?”

When it became clear that Razi would not answer, Wynter spoke in his stead. “Yes, it is true,” she said. “King Jonathon established a Charter of Rights and a system of justice whereby even the lowest of persons can argue their case in law against even the highest.”

Úlfnaor stared at her as if this were more than he could ever have hoped for. “The Red Hawk, he say that all this laws wrote down, permanent and unchanging.” Úlfnaor scribbled his fingers across his palm, as if writing. “That any man who can to read, can go see this laws, to know them for himself and so it always easy to understand what is law and what is outlaw?”