him, her attention fixed ahead. Then she pointed into the trees.
‘Coinín,’ she said. ‘Agus é ag rith.’
It was Christopher, running soundless and very fast through the trees, his long black hair flying behind him, his slim arms and legs pumping. He burst into the sunlight and crossed the shallow ford in a glitter of splashing footsteps. Boro and Sólmundr came racing after.
‘Quick!’ hissed Christopher. ‘Someone’s coming, and they ain’t no diplomatic party!’
The Merron spun for their horses, but Sólmundr called them back. He ran straight up the rocks and flung himself on the weapons pile, snatching up his longbow and arrows.
His companions swerved to join him and he began hissing breathless explanations as they loaded up.
Christopher’s grey eyes met Wynter’s as he slid to a halt at her side.
‘No time to run,’ he said. ‘Make a stand! They’re right behind us.’
She drew her sword. ‘How many?’
‘Have I time to load the matchlock?’ asked Razi.
Christopher shook his head to both questions. ‘No idea how many; don’t even think they know we’re here. But they’re heading straight for us and they’re in a damned big hurry. No time for the gun, Razi. Just draw your swords, the two of you, and stay behind the archers.’
Sólmundr shouted, and Christopher spun just in time to catch the crossbow the warrior had flung to him. Christopher’s quiver of black bolts came sailing after, and Wynter caught it one-handed while Christopher pulled the lever to draw his bow. She handed him a bolt. He loaded the bow as he spun to face the ford, and Wynter stepped to his side, her sword in hand.
Sólmundr shook his sandy hair from his eyes and drew his longbow, sighting on the trees. The Merron spread out along the beach, their longbows at the ready, their warhounds standing in disciplined silence at their sides. The wood and leather of the longbows creaked as the warriors put just enough tension on the strings to keep the arrows in place, not yet expending their energies on a full draw. The buzzing quiet of the autumn evening settled around them as they waited.
Christopher nestled the crossbow into the hollow of his shoulder. He settled his stance. ‘Here they come,’ he whispered. Wynter could hear them now, coming up fast. So different to Christopher’s earlier silent approach; this was the noise of someone smashing heedlessly through the heavy forest. It was the sound of someone panicked, someone desperate. The Merron pulled their longbows to full draw and levelled their aim.
The man who crashed through the trees didn’t register them. He came staggering from the shade into the sunlight and splashed halfway across the bright water without even noticing the row of imposing warriors standing on the far bank, tracking him with their arrows. His head was down, his arms wrapped around his belly, and all his energy seemed taken with simply putting one foot in front of the other.
‘Hold!’ cried Wynter. ‘You hold now!’
The man spun in response to her voice and staggered to a halt. Once his forward momentum deserted him, he seemed to lose his ability to stand and he immediately dropped to his knees and collapsed face-first into the shallow river. The water around him instantly turned red.
There was a moment of stunned silence as the company watched the man’s blood swirl and spread and trail away in dark ribbons from his body. Then Razi threw his sword aside with a clatter and waded into mid-stream to roll the man onto his back.
Wynter had assumed the poor fellow to be unconscious, but as soon as Razi lifted his face from the water the man took a gasping breath and clutched Razi’s coat with a bloody fist.
‘Help me,’ he rasped. ‘Help me . . .’ His half-opened eyes were on the Merron, who had switched their aim back to the trees and were dividing their attention between the newcomer and whoever might appear in pursuit of him.
Razi began to heave the fellow up and Wynter ran to help him. Christopher splashed out after her. Without dropping his guard, he circled around in front of her and Razi, his crossbow aimed at the far bank.
‘Get yourselves behind the archers,’ he ordered roughly.
‘Cavalry . . . cavalry . . .’ moaned the wounded man as they dragged him to shore. ‘Escape . . . the Prince.’
Razi met Wynter’s eye across the top of the man’s head as they laid him on the warm stones of the beach. ‘You are a member of the King’s