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.
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