take back of my sword to your head.’ Razi glowered and the black-haired Merron leader frowned. ‘Sit,’ he ordered. ‘You wear me out.’ Razi sat, and Úlfnaor nodded in approval. ‘They be back soon,’ he said. ‘You take this time to rest.’
The big man sounded calm, but even as he spoke his dark eyes roamed the far bank with restless anxiety. His warriors sat tensely around him, the three women sharpening their swords, the three men staring at the trees on the other side of the ford. They had set out that morning expecting to make contact with Alberon and to engage him in diplomatic talks, so men and women alike were magnificently dressed in the pale-green embroidered tunics and britches of the Merron formal costume, their arms and hands and necks heavy with silver tribal jewellery. But the day had grown old with no contact from the Rebel Prince, and evening was fast approaching. Wynter was beginning to fear that they had been misled.
She met the eye of the Merron healer, Hallvor. The sinewy woman smiled reassuringly, but Wynter could see the tension in her face. Úlfnaor’s two giant warhounds were snuffling about at the water’s edge. They looked up as Hallvor rose to her feet. She sheathed her sword as she made her way to the shore, and the dogs wagged their tails, hoping for action. But Hallvor just laid a callused hand on each of their wiry heads and stood watching the trees on the other side. She murmured unhappily in Merron. Úlfnaor answered in soothing tones.
Wynter wished that Christopher were there, and not just because she wanted him to translate. She frowned across the water, willing him to return. Beside her, the gravel crunched as Razi began to move about once again. His long shadow fell across Wynter and he hunkered down by her side, his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the far bank.
‘I do not think we will be lucky here either,’ he said quietly.
Wynter nodded. Since early morning, the Merron had been making their way along this river, stopping at prearranged rendezvous points, waiting for Alberon’s men to show up and guide them to the rebel camp. This was the fourth such designated meeting place and it, like all the others, had proved deserted. They had been waiting for well over an hour now, but still Úlfnaor was loath to move on. Apparently if this rendezvous proved a washout, there was only one remaining point at which they could hope to meet their guides. If that, too, proved deserted then the Merron’s diplomatic mission would be a failure. The Northern warriors would have to return to their homeland with their duty unfulfilled, and Razi, Wynter and Christopher would be no closer to finding Alberon’s camp than they had been almost three weeks previously.
‘Chris and Sól have been away too long,’ murmured Wynter.
Razi just sighed and rubbed his face. He’d heard enough of this from her, she knew, but Wynter didn’t care. She was prickly with anxiety. There were less than four hours of daylight left, and she wanted Christopher where she could see him. She wanted him by her side, not out in the woods where the Loups-Garous might be prowling and where the King’s men were still actively hunting the rebels.
‘Úlfnaor should never have allowed Chris and Sól out there alone,’ she said. ‘Reconnoitre be damned! Truth be told, I think he let them go just to shut the two of them up and give them something to do.’
Razi huffed in agreement. Christopher was an incorrigibly reckless fellow at the best of times, and as for Sólmundr – since the loss of his beloved Ashkr, the Merron warrior had seemed possessed of a dangerous, unquenchable kind of restlessness. He and Christopher seemed to spark each other off, and both were champing at the bit, longing for action. They had set off into the forest with far too much enthusiasm and far too little caution for Wynter’s liking. Even with Sólmundr’s warhound, Boro, by their side, she feared her two friends were horribly vulnerable out there.
Wynter was opening her mouth to say so when, down by the river’s edge, Hallvor and the warhounds suddenly came to attention. Frowning, the healer took a step forward, her eyes on the trees. The warhounds growled, and Hallvor gestured sharply to quiet them.
Razi and Wynter rose to their feet. On the rocks, the other Merron stood up, swords in hand.