the King. I would be grateful if you would convey my greetings to him, and request please that his loyal servant, the Protector Lady Wynter Moorehawke, in the company of his son, the Lord Razi, might be granted access to his presence.’
They were divested of their weapons and brought on foot down through the long grass and into the King’s camp. This was a tiny entourage indeed, no more than ten men, with only four tents between them, one of which would obviously be reserved for the King himself. Wynter, scanning about her, was gratified to see no sign of heavy artillery or even the deep wheel-tracks that would signify its passage through camp. This meant that no cannonry had been through here. The ground bore no trace of any foot-traffic, or horses other than those evidenced at the camp’s highlines, so there were no great numbers of archers either, waiting in hiding to rain death on Alberon and his accompanying men.
Wynter could not prevent the surge of hope this evidence brought to her heart. She could see no sign at all that the King intended an ambush. Could it be that he had relented?
Had Razi’s supposed death brought Jonathon to his knees at last, and had he been sincere in his offer of parley to his one remaining heir? Hard as it might be to believe, it seemed as if the impossible had come to pass. Wynter glanced up at Razi, who was nervous and wary by her side, and thought to herself, Perhaps we can manage this after all.
The lieutenant led them from the pollen-laden grass, and the rest of the King’s men gathered silently around. The soldiers eyed Sól and Christopher with disbelief – and kept their distance from Boro.
‘If that creature so much as cocks its leg, shoot it,’ said the lieutenant, and his men levelled their crossbows and followed the warhound’s progress with their fingers on the triggers.
Wynter watched the soldiers from the corner of her eye. She was impressed at their stone-faced lack of reaction to Razi’s sudden return from the dead. For the most part, their responses were confined to furtive glances and only the occasional nudge and whispering comment. These were obviously well seasoned men, but, aside from the King’s lieutenant, Wynter recognised none of them, and there was no sign of any of the other tall and broad-shouldered longbow-men who comprised the King’s personal guard.
Where are Jonathon’s men? thought Wynter, risking a glance behind her. Certainly they could not all be crammed within one of these small tents. Had there been turmoil within the ranks? Had the King’s own men fallen victim to a purge? Surely not. Jonathon had gone to pains to tell her father how much he trusted his guard. The men themselves were undyingly faithful to the crown. What could have happened to them?
‘Wait here,’ said the lieutenant, and, leaving them under the watchful eye of the others, he approached what Wynter presumed to be the King’s tent.
To Wynter’s great shock, the lieutenant did not stand to attention outside the awning, announce himself loud and clear and wait for the order to approach. Instead, he went right up to the closed door of the tent, murmured, ‘It’s me,’ through the canvas, and waited there, leaning across the entrance like some forward peddler at a hovel.
Wynter glanced at Razi. Even in his present state, her courtly friend regarded this lack of decorum with frowning disbelief. ‘Is . . . ?’ he asked. ‘Is that fellow announcing himself to a king?’
A man came to the door, and Wynter recognised him as being the captain of Jonathon’s personal guard. Another huge man, he stooped to listen as the lieutenant murmured in his ear. Then he raised startled eyes to Razi, unable to hide his shock.
Wynter heard the lieutenant whisper, ‘Is he in any condition?’ The officers’ eyes met, and instead of replying, the captain glanced furtively into the tent behind him.
Wynter straightened in alarm. What on earth were these men up to? Why did they not simply announce Razi’s arrival to the King? And what could the King possibly be doing in there? Surely he wasn’t standing calmly aside as two of his own men whispered at his door?
She stepped forward, and in a high, clear court-voice, demanded, ‘Why do you not announce us?’
The guards flinched, and Wynter purposely raised her voice so that whoever lurked within the tent could not fail to hear. ‘Do your duty this instant!’ she said.