The Crowded Shadows (44 page)

This one night
, thought Wynter,
that’s all we need get through. One more night of their odd formalities, and then we shall be on our way, safer than ever. And within one week we shall be in Alberon’s camp
.

One week. It was hard to believe they were so close.

Razi laughed again, bringing her attention back to Ashkr’s amusing story.

Sólmundr, reclining against Ashkr on the far side of the tent, shook his head. “You never remembers that right, Ash! It was Úlfnaor, and not Wari, who the licence men throw in the river. But it was Wari what was so ill after. You remember? It was this that open his eyes to Soma? ’Till then he dangerous in heat with that crazy village woman who want for him to kill her father.”

“Oh,
Frith an Domhain!
” exclaimed Embla, sitting back from filling Wynter’s beaker, her eyes wide. “I forget all about that woman! She mad in the head! What it was that Wari see in her?”

Ashkr grinned slyly and held a hand out in front of him to symbolise huge breasts. Razi spluttered his drink, coughing. “Ashkr!” he admonished.

Sólmundr tutted. “You to have no heart, Ash. Embla right, you always thinks with your trousers.”

Embla made a dismissive noise. “He right about that woman, though. I tell you now, it not Wari’s heart she capture.”

“Stop that!” cried Sólmundr, laughing despite himself. “He in
love
with her!”

“He in love with
something
,” said Ashkr slyly. “But I think it hid beneath her skirt.”

Wynter blazed red and snorted with laughter She twisted her head against Christopher’s shoulder, looking up at him. He was very quiet, the only one of them who had yet to thaw. “Are you all right?” she whispered. He smiled tightly at her and nodded.

The Merron subsided into chuckles. Sólmundr leaned stiffly forward to help himself to a drink, and Ashkr rested back against his cushion, sighing happily. He ran his hand up his friend’s back, his eyes roaming the walls of the tent. Gradually some of the joy left his face. “It get late,” he said softly.

There was a moment of heavy silence as the Merron noblemen regarded the growing shadows on the walls of the tent. Sólmundr sat back, his face grave, and Ashkr draped his arm around the wiry man’s shoulder.

“Coinín,” said Embla, leaning forward to see him. “You light the fire-basins now.”

“It’s not that dark yet,” murmured Christopher.

Razi glanced at his friend, disapproving of his sullen tone.

Sólmundr glared. “You light the fire-basins now,” he commanded.

Christopher got silently to his feet and lit a candle from Ashkr’s tinder box. He moved around the periphery of the tent with it, lighting the four fire-basins that the lords had waiting, and the
puballmór
was instantly filled with warmly dancing light. When he had lit the last basin, Christopher snuffed the candle and stood for a moment, his shadow thrown long against the wall. Wynter glanced at him, but he just continued to stand there, gazing down at the neat pile of weapons they’d left by the door.

Behind her, Ashkr teasingly challenged Razi to another game of chess Sólmundr objected, claiming he should have first right to challenge, now that his body was free of Razi’s opium. Razi dryly offered to take them both on, playing two boards at once, and there was a loud chorus of approval from the Merron lords.

“My man has balls,” crowed Embla.

“Oh?” countered Ashkr. “Still? I surprised you not wear them away yet. I amazed he can still to walk!”

“Good
God
,” gasped Razi, mortified, “
Ashkr!
”

Wynter laughed and looked once again at Christopher. He was still staring absently at the weapons. “Chris,” she called softly. “Are you all right?”

He glanced quickly at her, placed the candle in Ashkr’s tinderbox, and crossed back to the company. But to Wynter’s surprise he did not return to her side, just ran his hand over her hair as he passed by, and edged around the dinner things to go sit between Razi and Sólmundr. “I’d like to see this game,” he said, smiling at his friend.

Razi grinned, delighted at Christopher’s sudden warmth. He straightened expectantly, waiting for someone to offer a board.

Embla was staring at him. “Tabiyb,” she whispered. “I want
…”

“We will play the game now!” said Ashkr loudly. Embla’s eyes darted to him. “We play chess, Sól and me. We beat the trousers off your man and then we see who has the biggest balls! We drink to it,” said Ashkr. “Yes? We drink to beating your man in chess.”

“Aye,” whispered Embla. “Aye, Ash, we drink to that.”

“Coinín,” said Sólmundr flatly. “You get drinks now.”

Wynter caught Christopher’s eye as he rose to his feet. He was desperately unhappy. She tried to question him with her eyes but he turned away, rubbing his hands on his trousers, scanning the shadows at the back of the tent.

“You drink, a
chroí
?” murmured Embla, running her hand along Razi’s face. “Drink to victory?”

Razi nodded uncertainly.

“Come help me, Embla,” said Christopher. “I don’t know where everything is.”

As Embla rose to help Christopher, Razi looked across at Wynter. His dark eyes were troubled. Like Wynter, he felt this odd charge between the Merron. Outside, the dogs shifted, their chains clinking in the empty silence of the camp, Wynter turned to listen to the quiet sound. Ashkr’s soft voice drew her attention back to the company.

“Tell me what you do this winter, Sól.”

“I not want tell that now,” said Sólmundr, pulling his head away from Ashkr’s caressing touch. His friend drew him close, whispered please. Sólmundr closed his eyes. “I not want to, Ash,” he whispered.

Embla and Christopher were coming around the edge of things now, a tray of six tiny silver beakers and a jug carried between them. Embla glanced at Sólmundr as she picked her way across the mats. “You tell it now, Sól,” she said. “Make Ash happy.” She knelt on one side of Razi, and Christopher knelt on the other. Between them, they began to set out the little beakers.

Sólmundr laid his head back against Ashkr’s shoulder and stared up at the smoky ceiling. Ashkr kissed the side of his neck. “Tell me what you do this winter, Sól,” he murmured again. “Tell me where you go.”

“I go with the tribe to the winter hunting ground,” began Sólmundr softly.

Ashkr smiled and sat back against the cushion, his eyes closed. “Yes,” he said. He pulled Sól closer. “Then what you do?”

“Then I leave the tribe in the valley,” continued Sólmundr, “and I go to our lodge on the mountain.”

“Yes,” murmured Ashkr.

Christopher uncorked the jug and began to fill the little beakers with thick, amber coloured liquid. Embla placed them, one at a time, before each member of the company.

Sólmundr’s eyes were very bright now, gazing at the ceiling. His hoarse voice was as soft as the gentle-hiss of the fire-basins. “I hunt the little red deer,” he whispered. “I hunt good and I get much food for the winter. Much hide. I maybe hunt also the bear, and make for me a black fur coat.” Ashkr nodded. “And there not be any licence men, not either any cavalry, to harry us and spoil our winter rest.”

“Ash,” said Embla softly, leaning forward and offering her brother his drink. Sólmundr and Ashkr straightened, took their beakers, held them solemnly, waiting. Embla lifted hers. Wynter and Razi glanced at Christopher. When he took his, and, without looking up, raised it, they followed suit. Wynter looked down at her drink. It was very heady, smelling strongly of resinous honey.

“
Croí an Domhain
,” toasted Ashkr. “
Ar fad do Chroí an Domhain!
”

The Merron and Christopher downed their drinks, emptying their cups in one swallow. Razi and Wynter hesitated. They glanced at Christopher. He nodded, and they downed the drinks.

Wynter gasped as honeyed fire burned its way to her stomach.
Jesu
, she thought,
that is unbearably sweet!

“Gah!” spluttered Razi, “that is bitter!” Wynter stared at him. He tried valiantly to hide his disgust and couldn’t. One eye closed and his entire face puckered in reaction. “Gah!” he said again, laughing. “Woman! Are you trying to kill me?”

Embla laughed shakily. Christopher took the beaker from Razi’s hand, carefully laying it behind him on the floor.

Ashkr pulled Sólmundr back against him. “Finish the story,
a chroí
,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around his friend. “What you do, in our lodge, all the long winter, when firelight paint the walls and the snow pile heavy on the door?”

Razi gasped, working his tongue around his mouth to rid himself of the bitter taste. “Oh, Embla! he said, “I… I think I need some water.”

Christopher rose to his knees and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Ashkr glanced at him, then murmured once again to Sólmundr, “Tell me what you do, Sól, this winter in the lodge.”

Sólmundr closed his eyes. Two bright tears made an unexpected trail down his cheeks. “I
…”
he said, “I
…”

“You be happy,” insisted Ashkr, squeezing tightly. “Say it, you be happy.”

“I… be happy.”

“And you have beautiful blond man to warm your bed.”

Sólmundr sobbed, shaking his head.

“Yes,” insisted Ashkr. “Yes. Beautiful man. As many as you wish.”

“No,” whispered Sólmundr. “No, Ash. No.”

“But who warm your heart,
a chroí
? While that man warm your bed?” Ashkr wrapped himself around Sólmundr and buried his face in his friend’s neck. “You tell me,” he moaned, “tell me, who warm your heart?”

“You,” sobbed Sólmundr. “You. Always you. Never anyone but you.”

Wynter stared at the two men, shocked by their sudden distress.

“Embla!” The alarm in Razi’s voice snapped Wynter’s attention back to him. At the sight of him she lurched to her knees, her eyes wide. He was bent forward, clutching his chest. “Christopher,” he gasped. “Chris… What…?”

“Shhhh,” soothed Christopher, rubbing his back. He glanced at Wynter and she hunched warily, her hands closing to fists.

“Christopher?” she snarled.

“Shhhh,” he said again. “It will be all right.”

Razi stared around him with unfocused fear. He tried to rise, and Christopher and Embla leapt to catch him, supporting his head and shoulders as he collapsed backwards. Razi cried out and gasped, his arm flying out in aimless self-defence.

“It’s all right!” said Christopher, his voice breaking in a sob. “It’s all right, Razi… Please
…”

“You’ve poisoned him!”

“No! No, Iseult! Trust me!”

But Wynter was already flinging herself backwards, rolling across the furs, and scrambling for the pile of weapons they had left by the door. She scrabbled around in blind panic for a moment, before realising that the weapons were gone. She came to a despairing halt, feeling the air pour through the narrow gap where someone had reached in under the hide wall and drawn their weapons outside.

Behind her, Razi kicked out and sent the tray of little beakers flying. Christopher was trying to soothe him, repeating that it was all right, everything was all right. Razi lashed at him in rage and fear. Wynter remained hunched by the door, staring in horror through the gap under the wall. The tent was surrounded by Merron, all silently waiting in the rapidly encroaching dusk. Her stomach shrank to a cold walnut at the realisation that this was what Christopher had been doing, that time he had stood here, his shadow thrown against the wall. He had been showing the others where the weapons were, letting them know what part of the wall to lift.

She turned on him, snarling through furious tears. “God curse you for a traitor, Christopher Garron,” she hissed. “God curse you! What are they going to do with him?”

“No,” he moaned, shaking his head. “No, lass. Please. It’s to keep him safe. That’s all. I promise you, it’s the only way.”

Razi weakly lifted his arm, then let it fall. His head and shoulders were supported across Christopher’s lap and he was trying in vain to push the young man away. His eyes rolled beneath heavy lids, closed briefly, opened again. Gasping, he made one last attempt to grab the front of Christopher’s shirt. He succeeded only in batting at his friend’s chest, and then his arm slithered down to fall slackly between them and his body went limp in Christopher’s arms. Wynter cried out in despair.

Ashkr called out something and bright light flared across the hide walls as a ring of torches roared to violent life outside the tent.

“You come take care of Tabiyb, Iseult,” said Embla. She was helping Christopher lay Razi down onto the furs, rolling him gently onto his side, propping him into position with cushions at his back. “This herbs very strong. They may to make him sick, and if you not careful, he can to choke.”

Wynter watched, frozen, as Christopher passed his hand over Razi’s curls. He glanced at her. “Come on, lass,” he said softly. “Come take care of our lad.”

Behind her, Ashkr whispered to Sólmundr, “Let me go now,
a chroí
. You know I got to go.” He still spoke Hadrish, and Wynter wondered if it were so that the Merron outside would not understand.