it came to her turn, he passed over Wynter without pause.
He turned once more to Úlfnaor, and addressed him in excellent Hadrish. ‘You have men in the trees,’ he observed.
‘As does you,’ said Úlfnaor.
The officer huffed. ‘Quite the travel party for a common messenger,’ he said.
There was a moment’s silence from Úlfnaor. When he next spoke, his voice was laden with warning. ‘I diplomatic envoy,’ he said. ‘I High Lord of the Merron peoples, entrusted by Royal Princess of Northlands’ peoples for to aid in her negotiations.’
Wynter eyed the officer carefully. Unless Alberon was running an intolerably sloppy camp, this man would have detailed instructions as to the treatment of each visitor: his attitude to Úlfnaor should be a calculatedly accurate reflection of the Prince’s.
‘Do forgive me,’ he murmured dryly. ‘No offence meant.’
Wynter did not like his tone. Úlfnaor regarded him coldly and did not reply.
The officer gestured over his shoulder, and another horseman emerged from the trees. ‘My lieutenant will accompany you to camp. By order of his Royal Highness Prince Alberon, you are granted safe passage. You may call your hidden guard to your side.’
Úlfnaor did no more than incline his head, and instantly the path behind Wynter came alive with the thud of hooves and the jangle of tack as the others emerged from hiding. She felt a rider draw close to her left side, their horse snorting and shaking its head. She glanced sideways. It was Christopher, his face covered, his eyes fixed on the trees.
At a nod from his superior, the lieutenant wheeled his horse about and the travel party followed as he led the way into the forest.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, and when they did, Wynter was startled to find that they were surrounded by soldiers. Fifteen or twenty well armed horsemen flanked the path, watching in silence as the Merron guided their horses through their ranks.
When the travellers had passed, half the soldiers turned their mounts to face the clearing. The other half began to follow the Merron, silently shadowing their progress through the trees. Wynter took careful note of their positions and weaponry; then she focused her attention on keeping track of the route.
They travelled upwards, the ground steepening sharply, the forest thickening so that the Merron found themselves strung out in vulnerable single file. The soldiers guarding them were nothing but stealthy shadows in the gloom; the man leading them, silent and removed. Light fell in heavy pillars through the trees and Wynter noticed that it kept changing direction: first slanting in from the right, it would seem to slowly swing around to the left, then gradually back to the right again. We are being led in circles, she thought. She looked behind her, taking in the depth of the shadows, the impenetrable nature of the forest. They would never find their way back through this. Not without a guide.
Christopher was riding behind her. He was slouched casually in his saddle, apparently paying little heed to his surroundings. But just as Wynter was about to face front again she saw him reach to his left and break a passing branch. It was a barely perceptible movement, but it left the branch hanging at an angle, pointed back the way they had come. Christopher met her startled gaze, and his eyes creased into an unmistakably sly grin.
Eyes wide, Wynter turned forward in the saddle. A few moments later, Sólmundr kicked out his left leg, and his boot scored a mark into the bark of a nearby tree. Up ahead, Hallvor ducked under an overhang. As she pushed it out of her way, the end of the branch got bent in two somehow; the broken piece happened to point back in the direction they had come.
After a calculated moment, Wynter glanced back once more at Christopher. He winked at her. Wynter grinned. These people would have no trouble finding their way home, whether Alberon wanted them to or not.
They cleared the trees suddenly and were confronted with a sturdy earthworks barricade. A squad of men stared down at them from atop its walls, crossbows at the ready, and the party found themselves neatly caught between these guards and the silent body of horsemen who had accompanied them through the trees.
Without a word, Alberon’s lieutenant trotted past the sentry-point and disappeared into the camp beyond. The Merron were left to jostle for position in the cramped space, the guards eyeing them with impassive curiosity. Wynter pushed