cavalry?’ he murmured, turning the man over and opening his jacket to check his injuries. Wynter winced at the sight of a pulsing wound in the poor fellow’s side. She had to look away from the mess of exposed bone and bulging organs.
‘I shall fetch your medical bag,’ she said.
But Razi shook his head, his face grim, and Wynter knew there was nothing that could be done.
Razi leaned close. ‘You are a member of the cavalry?’ he repeated gently.
‘Yes . . . no . . . not . . . they’re after me. Oh Jesu, help me . . .’ The man began trying to crawl away, his bloody hands scrabbling on the smooth stones, his face twisted in pain. Blood pumped in horrible quantities from his wound and pooled on the rocks around him.
‘Shhh,’ said Wynter, laying her hand on his face. ‘Lie easy . . . lie easy, friend.’ The man stilled and rested his head on the stones with a moan. ‘Who pursues you?’ she asked.
‘The cavalry . . . the cavalry . . . the King’s men . . .’
Wynter glanced at Razi. The King’s men.
‘You work for my brother,’ said Razi softly.
The man looked up into Razi’s dark face for the first time, and his eyes widened in fear. ‘Oh God help me,’ he whispered. ‘You’re the Arab.’ He moaned and closed his eyes. ‘Oh, I am lost.’
‘My father’s men pursue you?’ asked Razi. ‘You seek the safety of the rebel camp?’
‘The Lord Razi is hoping to meet his brother at the rebel camp,’ whispered Wynter. ‘He wishes to reconcile him to the King. We can take you to safety, if you will but show us the way to the Prince.’ But the man just turned his face into the stones, convinced now that he was among enemies, determined to speak no more.
‘Razi,’ said Christopher, glancing back at his friend. ‘The Merron cannot allow the King’s men to take them.’
Sólmundr and Úlfnaor looked over their shoulders at Razi. The rest of the Merron, unable to understand this conversation, kept aim on the trees, but their eyes flicked anxiously between their leaders and the dark-skinned man they’d sworn to protect.
‘Razi,’ insisted Christopher, ‘if your father’s men arrive, we must fire on them! Else you are condemning these people to death – and your mission is failed.’
Razi shook his head and would not lift his eyes from the wounded man.
Wynter laid a hand on his arm. She looked up into Christopher’s pained face.
‘The King’s men will kill us, lass,’ said Christopher. ‘We must fight them or die; there ain’t no way around it.’
‘Others is coming!’ cried Sólmundr, and Wynter leapt to her feet at the sounds of riders approaching fast through the trees. She weighed her sword in her hand and stepped to Christopher’s side again, her heart hammering with anger and with fear. Dear God, had it truly come to this? Must she now face loyal soldiers of the crown and kill them or die?
The Merron ordered their dogs to heel and once again pulled their longbows to full draw. A flash of sun on metal showed through the shifting leaves of the forest as dark shapes advanced upon them. Úlfnaor, his huge arms quivering with the strain, held his aim and murmured softly to his warriors. He was obviously telling them, ‘Wait . . . wait . . .’
Wynter crouched low. She brought her sword up. She had made up her mind that she would not die here. She would not die!
Christopher looked back at Razi, wanting his permission to fire.
Razi bowed his head, his eyes squeezed shut. Then he snatched his sword, rose to his feet and stood ready at Christopher’s side. Christopher took aim just as the King’s soldiers burst through the trees.
There were only two of them, and they entered the ford with an almost childlike abandon. Wynter knew that she would never forget the looks on their faces when, expecting nothing more than a wounded soldier fleeing on foot, they suddenly found themselves confronted with a row of hard-faced archers.
There was just a brief moment of suspension, the smallest fraction of time, then the youngest soldier grabbed for his sword. Christopher’s crossbow bolt took him between his eyes and carried him backwards from his horse. All other sound was buried in the heavy twock of longbows, and the hiss and thud of Merron arrows seeking and finding their target. The soldiers’ limp bodies tumbled to the water with mighty splashes. Their