loosely hiding their rich clothes. Their sturdy Merron horses stepped as light as any trained Arabian, their giant warhounds trotting alongside with courtly discipline and disdain. Wynter did not think that any royal entourage could have looked more majestic.
News of their arrival trickled through the camp, and among the military tents, soldiers paused in their work to stare. Men ducked from doors, people ran around corners to get a look. In the civilian quarters, two Combermen stood in the shade of their awning, watching the newcomers with suspicion. As the Merron drew near, one of the Combermen glowered at the pagan symbols painted on their horses, crossed himself and spat.
There were no Haun to be seen, and their quarters seemed lifeless, the bright felt shelters heavy and motionless in the evening light.
Something caught Wynter’s eye, a dark figure moving through the military tents. She leaned discreetly back to get a better view, then startled at the unexpected sight of a Midland priest wending his way through the camp, a bowl in his hands. He cut a path between the tents and came out onto the thoroughfare ahead of the Merron party. He did not seem to notice the new arrivals, and Wynter saw him duck his cowled head at the low door of the blue pavilion tent and pass inside. She shuddered. As part of his diplomatic duties, Wynter’s father had been forced to spend no small amount of time in the Midland court. It had left Wynter with some horrible memories of Midland priests and the all-too-eager role they played in the inquisitions there.
She glanced at Razi regally astride his gleaming black mare, his attention on the silently waiting royal quarters. Soldiers were crowding the edge of the road now, unwittingly closing in on him.
Unconsciously, Wynter’s hand dropped to the empty belt on her hip.
At her side, Christopher chuckled. ‘I keep reaching too,’ he murmured. Up ahead of them, they saw Wari’s sword-hand creep to his own hip, then jerk back as he remembered his empty scabbard. ‘We look so sure of ourselves,’ said Christopher, ‘when we’re naught but ducks walking on ice.’
They were led to the base of the incline that led to the royal quarters, and the lieutenant signalled for them to halt. There was a moment of breathless anticipation, the Merron staring upwards, the jangle of tack and the breathy sighs of the horses the only sounds. At the top of the slope, the white canvas of the royal tent snapped and shivered in the faint breeze, an empty map-table and chairs crouched darkly beneath the awning.
Voices filtered down to them, the words indecipherable in the quiet evening air. Then the insect-netting on the main entrance was pulled aside and two Haun ducked out. They paused as they left the shelter of the awning, pulling their brightly coloured hats down to shade their eyes. The youngest gazed out across the tops of the trees as if deep in thought, but his companion glanced down the hill. At the sight of the Merron, his hand froze on the brim of his hat. He murmured something, and the younger man looked down. He stared for a long time, his flat, honey-coloured face expressionless, his narrow black eyes unreadable. Then he tugged his hat lower, said something to the older Haun and led the way down the hill.
The older man swept by with ostentatious disinterest. But the young man slowed as he approached, his eyes on the impressive Northern horses and Razi’s wonderful mare. Wynter smiled knowingly. The Haun were famously avaricious when it came to horses. Razi would do well to sleep with his reins in his hand tonight.
As he passed her by, the young Haunardii glanced briefly into Wynter’s masked face, then walked on. Wynter swivelled in her saddle to keep him in sight. So that is a Haun, she thought. How strange they look up close.
‘Lass . . . ? Lass!’ Christopher kicked her lightly to get her attention and she spun in the saddle, startled. ‘Is that him?’ he whispered, looking uphill.
A boy of about ten stood in the door of the royal tent – small, skinny, fine brown hair, obviously a servant. ‘Oh, Christopher,’ she hissed, her heart hammering. ‘Have some sense! Does that look like a royal prince?’
At a nod from the boy, the lieutenant dropped from his horse, jogged up the hill, and disappeared into the tent. The Merron sat in silence, waiting. A few moments later, the lieutenant reappeared. He trotted