You can diagnose a patient’s condition as if by magic through acres of tent canvas?’
‘The Wolves ate something disagreeable,’ repeated Razi. ‘Your men have no need to fear the plague. I bet my life on it.’
‘I have no doubt you do,’ murmured Alberon, his eyes flitting to Christopher. Wynter glanced slyly at him and he caught her eye. ‘Jesu Christi,’ hissed the Prince, ‘you’re like a trio of well oiled snakes sitting there, with your shifty eyes and blank looks. Oliver, tell David that we are not fortunate enough to have a doctor in camp. Give him my sympathies, keep him appeased and keep me apprised. Do not let this escalate.’
Oliver nodded unhappily and left.
‘This will not escalate, will it, Freeman Garron? I shall not find myself stuck in a spiral of spite and counter-spite?’
‘It may be wise,’ said Christopher, his scarred fingers drawing spirals on the tabletop, ‘to request that Úlfnaor’s Second join my Lord Razi on the trail.’
‘Certainly,’ said Wynter, ‘Freeman Garron could do with some assistance guarding us in the wilds. The lord and I being such sorry hands at forest-craft.’
‘Hmmm,’ mused Razi, ‘that is an excellent suggestion. If Sólmundr could be spared, of course.’
‘We’re discussing that thin, sandy-haired fellow?’ asked Alberon. ‘The one with those appalling shackle scars?’
Christopher nodded.
‘I see,’ said Alberon quietly. His eyes dropped to Christopher’s mutilated hands, and Wynter saw some measure of deeper understanding cross his face. ‘I’ll assume that the appointment of this fellow to Razi’s service will miraculously bring a halt to the Wolves’ stomach problems?’
Christopher nodded again.
‘I see.’ Alberon slapped the table with a decisive bang. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Razi! You have yourself the protection of the savage. I wish you joy of him. In your place, I should keep him far from my cooking pot, but that’s just me.’
Razi chuckled. ‘I shall bear that in mind,’ he murmured.
Wynter glanced at Christopher, smiling. He closed his eyes and she briefly took his hand.
‘Now,’ said Alberon, rising to his feet. ‘Your maps . . .’
CONSEQUENCES
‘YOU INSIST on taking Wyn?’ murmured Alberon, his eyes on the map. Wynter tutted, but the Prince paid her no heed and continued to discuss her as though she were not there. ‘Those mountain tracks are hardly fit for a woman.’
‘I am taking her, and that’s an end to it,’ said Razi, peering at the thin thread of mountain pass he was currently examining. ‘I will not leave our sister in camp without your protection, Albi, and I certainly will not send her travelling with you when Father’s entire army is after your head.’ He pointed at the map. ‘This river, here,’ he said, ‘it is deep?’
‘It is both deep and rapid. However, if you were to cross here . . .’ Alberon twisted the map so that Razi could see, and they bent low, murmuring, their equally tousled heads close together as they discussed the best way to ford the river.
Wynter sighed and pushed back from the table, stretching broadly and wincing at the stiffness in her back. They had been over the route three times already and were merely re-examining the alternatives. There was nothing left for her to learn.
Christopher had wandered to the door and was gazing through the insect-netting, watching the camp. He was pensive and withdrawn, and Wynter assumed he was worrying about the Merron and their future. He had brought them into the conversation several times, and Alberon had been remarkably patient with him. But in the end there was little that could be done, and Christopher knew it.
The lords had not fallen prey to Marguerite Shirken’s plan of entrapment, but that was about the only good thing that could be said for their situation. There was no room in this kingdom for their nomadic way of life, and there was little Alberon could do to avert the Shirkens’ war of attrition against them. Even were the Prince willing to offer sanctuary – and there was no indication that he was – it was unlikely that Úlfnaor’s party would accept his protection and leave their tribesmen in the North to struggle on alone. Eventually, the Merron lords would have to return home to deliver the bad news to their people, and to face whatever it was that life had in store for the tribes.
Wynter crossed to Christopher’s side and took his hand. She leaned against him, looking down into camp.
‘This plan is madness,’ he said softly. ‘The King ain’t ever going to allow this all to just slip by.