BOOK I IN THE MOOREHAWKE TRILOGY 26 страница
‘I swears it,’ soothed the Aoire. ‘You not to worry.’
Christopher blushed suddenly, as if embarrassed by his outburst, and he straightened. Nodding curtly, he pulled his horse back around and glanced at Razi, who turned without further word and led the way between the tents. Wynter fell into place behind them, Sól, Boro and a cranky little pack mule trailing after. They followed Razi up the alley and out onto the road, where they fanned out behind him in unplanned unison, an unlikely squad of mismatched knights backing their Lord.
There had been no plans for ceremony, but of course the soldiers had gathered to witness the departure of the man upon whom they were all dependent. Alberon and Oliver were standing at the head of the slope, and they watched as Razi led his little entourage to the base of the hill. It was not possible that a crown prince would come to stand by a lord’s horse, squinting up at him like some common groom, so Alberon waited, his face bland, as Razi slid from his mount and trudged his way up the slope to kneel at his feet. Wynter scanned the crowd as Alberon gave Razi his blessing. She was appeased by the hopeful expectancy in the men’s faces. They had truly taken Albi’s words to heart, it seemed, and she could see no trace of sullenness or the repressed aggression of before.
It brought a mingling of unease and relief that the Loups-Garous were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were simply too ill to be bothered. Let them stay abed, she thought, discreetly scanning the tents behind her. Let them keep their damned faces away and allow us to depart in peace. But it was a futile wish and her heart twisted with bleak anger as she saw Jean, his clothes crumpled, his pale hair tossed, stagger to the edge of the road and sneer at the proceedings on the hill.
Neither Sól nor Christopher noticed the Wolf ’s presence, and Wynter faced front so that she would not draw their attention to him. The Wolves would not be a problem in any case. Razi was right: Alberon’s promises had tamed them, and they would do nothing now but posture. They knew that their future depended on Razi’s survival. Even they would not be foolish enough to risk their fortunes in avenging the death of a slave.
At the royal tent, Razi rose to his feet. The Royal Prince took a letter from his coat, looked at it for a moment, then handed it over. Razi took it with a bow. Then Alberon, ever impulsive, broke the air of solemn formality and pulled his brother in for a hug. His voice drifted faintly down the brightening air as he tousled Razi’s curls and, like a man years senior to his brother, said, ‘Take care of yourself, you damned pup.’
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Wynter smiled at the exasperation on Razi’s face as he raked his hair into order and came striding down the hill.
As Razi took to his horse, Alberon met Wynter’s eye and smiled. He lifted his hand in fond farewell. Wynter nodded a bow. Adieu, brother. We shall meet soon.
‘Come along,’ said Razi, turning to face into the morning light. ‘Let us fly. Our time is gold.’
The soldiers had already begun to turn away, their minds drifting to the many chores that made up the military day. As the entourage urged their horses down through the dusty camp, Wynter saw Razi’s head turn to the silent darkness of the Midland quarters. He was, perhaps, hoping that the Lady Mary would show her face in farewell, but she remained decently secluded.
The supply tent was a hive of work as the cooks and rationeers began the complex process of feeding a camp of hungry men. From habit, Wynter let her eyes drift across the surface of the activity, watching for danger. At her side, Christopher did the same, his vigilance disguised by his usual careless slouch. She noticed something catch his eye, and he straightened slightly, following a movement in the crowd.
Anthony was making his careful way between the busy men, his little arms stretched out, his attention absorbed in not spilling the kettle of water he held poised before him. As soon as Wynter saw the little servant weaving through the heedless crowd, she startled and swung around to check for Jean. Her only thought was, I hope Anthony is on the hill before that cur sees him, but Christopher was alerted by her sudden turn in the saddle, and he turned to see the cause. Wynter’s heard dropped as he followed her gaze directly to the Wolf.
Jean was dull and listless, his energy obviously sapped by the lingering effects of the poison, and he was simply leaning at the corner of the tents, watching Razi’s progress through the crowd. He had no notion of the child, who was hidden from his view among the men on the far side of the road, and Wynter realised at once that he’d had no intention of causing trouble. But Christopher’s angry face caught Jean’s eye, and the Wolf couldn’t seem to resist the challenge in the young man’s expression.
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Grinning, Jean pushed himself straighter and called something in Arabic. Whatever he said must have been wickedly crude, because Razi swung around to look at him, his face raw with shock. Jean laughed knowingly, that horrible cackle, and his eyes flitted from Razi’s scarlet face to Christopher’s. He winked lewdly. Razi snarled and immediately turned away, furious that he had allowed himself to respond.
‘Tóin caca,’ hissed Sólmundr and he, too, turned front, dismissing the Wolf with cool disdain.
Christopher, however, held the Wolf ’s eyes, and as his horse came level to where Jean was standing, Christopher ducked his chin and ran his fingers under his collar, pulling something bright from the neck of his shirt. Wynter knew what it would be before the silver teeth cleared Christopher’s collar, and her heart fell as he tugged Razi’s necklace out into the open and arranged it so that it lay gleaming against the dark fabric of his tunic.
Jean frowned, squinting, and Wynter saw understanding slacken the Wolf ’s face as he recognised the warm amber stones and the glittering silver fangs that now decorated his former slave’s throat. He lifted his eyes to Christopher’s, his smile gone. Christopher grinned. He pressed his scarred finger to the gleaming tip of a silver fang, then slowly extended his arm to point at Jean.
All the implications of this gesture crawled bright and clear across Jean’s face, and he stumbled backwards, horrified. Wynter knew he now understood exactly where the Wolves’ fortunes lay, and she understood, too, that this changed everything.
Christopher had just told Jean, You have no future. He had just told him, This is your fate. One day you too shall be an ornament hung around a slave’s neck.
Jean turned and stumbled away between the tents, and Wynter suspected that Christopher had just undone the only knot that had been holding the Wolves in place. The muzzle of their restraint had come loose, and nothing now remained to hold them in check.
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AN UNLIKELY EVENT
AS SOON as they left camp, Wynter pulled Razi aside and anxiously told him about the necklace and its possible effect on the Wolves. He swung to Christopher, appalled, and Christopher, shameless and defiant, simply sucked his teeth, pulled his horse onto the trail and kept going. Razi was left staring after him, speechless. After a moment, Sólmundr edged his horse past and fell into place by his young friend’s side, and they forged on.
Razi and Christopher barely spoke to each other for three days.
The trail brought them higher and then higher still: up beyond the majestic pines into hard-country woodland; above that again into wind-twisted scrub; and then, finally, up into the shale-strewn wastelands and rock that would be their landscape until they reached the other side.
This high into the mountains, the wind was tremendously strong. Slicing across loose beds of shale and rubble, and blasting down the black faces of cliffs, it cut through Wynter’s many layers of clothes and ripped the heat from her body. She took to travelling with her cloak and blankets wrapped around her, her head ducked against the incessant gale. For the first time since she’d met him, Sólmundr covered his arms. Eventually he gave in completely and shrugged his wiry body into a heavy, felt-lined jacket and wrapped his head in a scarf. Only Boro didn’t seem to feel the cold, and he ranged the barren landscape with cheerful, snuffling enthusiasm, his tongue lolling, his fur flattened in the wind.
On the third night, they plundered a copse of straggling furze bushes for wood and lit a guttering fire in the shelter of a rock. Sólmundr drew his covers around him and lay back, his eyes shut. He was quiet, as usual, content to let the others set the tone. Wynter huddled by his side, Boro stretched between them, his head resting warm in her lap. She scratched the hound’s bristly ears and watched her men as they stewed in their silence.
Christopher, swaddled in his cloak and blanket, sat cross-legged by the fire, gnawing a strip of dried venison. His blanket was pulled, cowl-like, over his head, and only his mouth and chin were visible as he doggedly chewed the last of the meat. Razi sat with his shoulders hunched against the cold, his eyes fixed on the flames. The wind gusted through a narrow gap in the rocks, flinging his curls across his face, and he shoved them back, pulling his scarf tight and binding it hard under his chin.
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Behind them, the mountains rose black and featureless against the dusky sky. It would be dark soon. There would be no moon. Wynter scanned the sharp outline of the cliff edges for movement. The wind shushed slyly in the rocks around her and skittered through the loose shale.
‘What can you possibly have been thinking?’ cried Razi suddenly.
Christopher’s jaw stopped moving for a fraction of a second; then he recommenced chewing.
‘Úlfnaor told you he would protect the boy! Did you honestly think you’d help matters by exposing my intentions to the Wolves?’
Christopher swallowed his chunk of meat. He said nothing.
‘You are an unruly chard, Garron!’ said Razi, kicking a stone into the fire. ‘You have no more sense than a child!’ He tucked his hands into his armpits and huddled deep into his cloak, his eyes roaming the uneasy shadows. ‘You are enough to kill me with exasperation.’
‘What done is done,’ murmured Sólmundr. ‘If they come for us, we fight. That all it is.’
‘I cannot help but feel that, had the Wolves been intent on harming us, they would have attacked by now,’ ventured Wynter. ‘No doubt David was loath to risk everything Alberon has offered him on so vague a threat as a finger pointed to a necklace.’ She glanced at Christopher, hoping he would agree, but he stayed silent, his face still obscured by his hood of blankets. ‘I should think that after all this time we are safe,’ she said.
Sólmundr slit his eyes and looked at her. ‘They sick anyways,’ he reassured her. ‘I not see them able to follow us. Even as Wolfs, they be too ill to journey this trail.’
Razi huffed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘David is certainly no fool. And I suppose Wyn is right, he would be unlikely to jeopardise his future based on a story brought to him by Jean.’ He settled back against his saddle. ‘Perhaps you are both right,’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps all will be well. But I still should have you pilloried, Christopher Garron. I am beyond words with anger.’
Wynter smiled. She found it unlikely that any emotion could put Razi beyond words for long, and, to tell the truth, he didn’t sound particularly angry now that he’d actually had his say. She looked to Christopher again, glad it was out in the open, hoping for a smile.
‘The truth is,’ said Christopher softly, ‘I didn’t even think about it. If I had, even just for a second, I wouldn’t have done it.’ He looked up at Razi, the firelight finally illuminating his face. ‘I’m sorry.’
There was something in the way Christopher said ‘I’m sorry’ that sent a blade of fear slicing up Wynter’s back. Sólmundr raised himself onto his elbow and waited solemnly.
‘David may not act,’ said Christopher. ‘But if Jean thinks we threaten his life, he’ll find a way to send the lower pack. They’ll travel as Wolves and attack as pleases them. We can’t outrun them, not even on horses, so when they come we’ll have to fight. There’s six of them, and there’s four of us, plus Boro. If we’re lucky, the animals will smell them before they sneak up on us and we may get the chance to shoot.’
If we’re lucky, thought Wynter.
‘How fast can they travel?’ asked Razi. ‘Will they be here soon?’
Christopher glanced at Wynter and lowered his head without answering. Razi sat back again, his face grave. ‘Shit,’ he said.
The Wolves attacked on the fifth day, in broad daylight, out of nowhere. The wind was gusting steadily in from the top of the pass, howling into their faces, and there was no advance warning from dog or horse. Wynter wasn’t even thinking about the possibility of an attack. It was too cold, the wind too wicked and the trail too narrow for her to be thinking of anything other than just getting by. She was looking up at the scudding grey sky, hoping that it wouldn’t rain, when something darted across the top of the bluff above her. It flew down the slope so fast that she thought it nothing but a cloud shadow. Then it leapt past her, momentarily cutting off the breeze, and Wynter felt heat and smelled a Wolf ’s musty scent as the shadow hit Razi and carried him over the edge of the path.
She registered sky and rock where only moments before there had been man and horse. Then the screams of Razi’s mare cut into her shock and Wynter twisted in the saddle, staring downwards while Razi, Wolf and mare tumbled away from her. Razi was tangled helplessly in his tack, and he appeared and disappeared from view as his horse rolled over and over, all the way down the steep slope to the bottom of the hill.
Christopher yelled: ‘They’re on the ridge! They’re on the ridge!’
Wynter looked up to see a Wolf launch for her, its jaws gaping. A crossbow thwacked. The bolt whined past her ear and the Wolf jerked in mid-flight, as though yanked on a chain. It fell to the ground at Ozkar’s feet, Christopher’s arrow jutting from its chest. But it was not dead and it writhed an agonised circle on the rocky path, screeching and struggling, neither animal nor man in its distress.
Ozkar reared in panic. Wynter almost came unseated as he tried to back away from the creature thrashing at his feet.
‘Corral your horse!’ yelled Christopher. Then he, too, screamed. His cry was cut abruptly short, and there was a heavy thump and the rattle of something big hitting the gravel behind Wynter’s horse.
Sólmundr bellowed in Merron, fury clear in his voice.
Wynter twisted in the saddle, trying to see Christopher. But Ozkar chose that time to turn on the too-narrow path. His hooves slipped on the shale, and Wynter was sent lurching forward as his front legs slid over the edge of the bluff. She grabbed his mane to keep from sliding headfirst down his neck and into the chasm below. For a moment she swung dizzyingly over the drop. There was a brief, distressing glimpse of Razi, his red coat a vivid splash of colour on the rocks below, then Wynter pulled herself upright and leaned back in the saddle, giving Ozkar a chance to gain his feet.
Once turned, the horse dropped his head and lashed out with both hind legs. With a solid whump and a brief howl, the shot Loup-Garou was kicked from the path. It sailed far out into the air before plummeting into the gully below.
Christopher’s riderless horse reared and lunged on the perilous track between Sól and Wynter. Between its trampling hooves, Christopher was locked in furious combat with a third Loup-Garou. Wynter drew her sword. She heaved Ozkar into line, intent on stabbing the Wolf ’s back. But before she could act, Christopher and the Wolf rolled to the edge of the path and plunged down the slope. Wynter caught a glimpse of Christopher, his eyes yellow, his teeth bared, and then he and the Wolf slithered from sight in a rattle of stones and debris.
Sólmundr yelled hoarsely. Wynter spun just in time to see a Loup-Garou land on him, then Sólmundr was hidden beneath the Wolf ’s massive body. His mare threw her head, her eyes wild, as the Wolf ’s hind claws scrabbled great, bloody tracks into her shoulders and neck. The poor horse slid and slipped about on the loose gravel, almost brought to its knees by its struggling burden of rider and Wolf.
Wynter urged Ozkar forward, trying to pass Christopher’s maddened horse and get to Sól. She saw the warrior’s fist jerk back, and Sól punched the Wolf ’s head away from his throat. His knife flashed and there was a spray of scarlet as he stabbed at the creature’s neck. Boro leapt, snarling, and caught the Loup-Garou’s hind leg in his huge jaws. There was a bright snap of bone and the Wolf arched, screaming. Wolf and hound fell away from Sól. Tumbling to the ground in a growling frenzy of teeth and fur, they engaged each other in battle.
Sólmundr, dazed and painted with blood, slid sideways in his saddle. Wynter cried out to him, certain that he would slip to the ground, but at the last minute he righted himself. He clung blearily to his horse’s blood-drenched neck as Boro and the Wolf tore into each other on the ground at its feet.
In an effort to escape the savagery of Wolf and dog, Christopher’s horse launched itself off the edge of the path. It slid down the loose surface of the hill in a barely controlled panic of flying stones and grit, then tumbled head over heels on the unmanageable slope. Ozkar mindlessly tried to follow, and Wynter yanked him round and yelled, ‘Stay easy!’
Another Wolf breasted the hill, heading for Sólmundr. Wynter opened her mouth to shout a warning to the dazed warrior. A shadow crossed her, and as the fifth Wolf hit Sól, the sixth fell on Wynter from above.
Her sword flew from her hand as a Wolf ’s weight flung her back, and she sprawled, helpless, under the creature’s hot and reeking body. She twisted. The Wolf ’s teeth missed her throat by a fraction, snapping the air by her cheek. Ozkar went down on his haunches under their weight.
Still in the saddle, Wynter felt the Wolf ’s hind claws rake her belly as he tried to gut her. Her many layers of clothes saved her from immediate evisceration, but her jacket fell open with a gasp of torn fabric and she knew that the next raking pass of his feet would expose her guts to the air. She fumbled for her knife with one hand and shoved frantically with the other, trying to push him off. He reared back, half-wolf, half-man, and glared down at her with his not-quite-human eyes. He opened his distorted mouth for the killing bite. Then Ozkar began to struggle to his feet.
Wynter clung to the Wolf and the Wolf clung to her. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, then they slid from the saddle and down Ozkar’s rounded backside in one sudden uncontrollable rush. All at once, Wynter was upside down and dangling, one foot caught in the stirrup, trailing headfirst down the treacherous slope.
The Wolf shot past her with a howl. He grabbed Wynter’s cloak to stop his fall, and swung to the end of it, dragging it tight. Wynter gagged. The fabric cinched closed around her neck, and she found herself completely incapable of drawing another breath. She turned bulging eyes to look back at the Loup-Garou. He grinned up at her and rolled in the gravel to twist the cloak tighter on her throat. Ozkar surged to his feet. Wynter was dragged up with him, her foot still caught in the stirrup. The world grew dark as she was stretched between Wolf and horse.
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