The Rebel Prince (44 page)

The warrior demurely spread his hands, displaying the two little knives he had removed from Pritchard’s person. Wynter smiled.

Andrew Pritchard eyed Sól with murderous disdain. He pushed his hair back off his face with no more discomposure than if Sól had produced an iced bun from the folds of his cloak. ‘I’ll have those back, please,’ he said.

‘When we’re done talking,’ murmured Christopher.

Pritchard curled his lip and turned to Razi. ‘I must hurry, my Lord. The King’s plans have been in effect for much longer than I can tell. I must try and reach the Royal Prince before he accepts his father’s invitation to parley.’

Wynter exchanged a glance with Razi. He was doing his best to play along, but expecting him to bluff his way through this was like asking a blind man to guess a colour by touch. Andrew Pritchard took their silence as mistrust. ‘Good Christ!’ he cried, flinging his hands out. ‘Do we have an accord or not? We could dance around ourselves for days here, or we can commence to deciding a course of action. What shall it be, my Lord?’

‘What is it you suspect the King of planning?’ asked Razi in a commendably neutral attempt to move the situation along.

Andrew Pritchard’s eyes skittered from Razi’s dark face to Sól and Christopher.

‘You can trust the Lord Razi’s men,’ said Wynter.

Pritchard made no secret of his scepticism, but he went on nonetheless. ‘Some members of council were providing his Royal Highness with supplies and information. The King rooted them out. They were . . . they were persuaded to talk.’

Pritchard’s usual sneer turned nauseous and he frowned miserably.

‘I am sure they were,’ muttered Christopher, sheathing his sword.

‘From what little I understand, they gave up the meeting point for Prince Alberon’s provisioners. When next the Prince’s men arrived to collect supplies, the King’s soldiers took them.’

‘Those poor men,’ whispered Wynter. ‘They were already overdue when we arrived in Alberon’s camp.’

‘I doubt they were tortured, Protector Lady. The King’s men had orders to send them back to the Prince carrying a message from his Majesty offering forgiveness and a chance to parley.’

‘It is a trap?’ asked Razi.

Pritchard nodded. ‘I suspect so, my Lord. But I am days late finding these things out. The King has already left for his rendezvous, and though I race to warn the Prince, I fear he may already have departed his camp and moved beyond my reach.’

‘Alberon . . .’ breathed Wynter.

‘It’s possible the Prince did not receive the King’s message,’ said Christopher. ‘He certainly hadn’t by the time we left camp, and he was due to leave the very next day. It’s possible that he’s right at this moment travelling the slopes below us as we planned, heading home to the palace.’

‘If that is the case, my Lord Razi must get to the palace before him,’ said Pritchard. ‘Otherwise it will look as though the Prince is attempting a coup while the King is away. You must return and convince all parties involved to hold fire until legitimate parley has been established.’

‘It is useless us returning to the palace if the Prince is blithely heading to a rendezvous elsewhere!’ cried Wynter.

‘Perhaps we should all return to the camp,’ said Christopher.

‘Where is the King planning on meeting the Prince?’ asked Razi.

Pritchard shook his head. ‘His Majesty took off with a tiny entourage of men, but told no one of his destination. There have been reports of a camp settled by the Chér Ford. But I do not know for certain. I had to leave before I could confirm the sightings. Though a royal pennant was reported, I can’t confirm that it is the King; it could be just rumours.’

The Chér Ford. Wynter knew of it. Silted over with treacherous mud, its ferry house a ruin, the ford had not been used by travellers for generations. It was deep in the remote woods, and was three days’ journey from the palace. If Alberon had received the King’s message and had decided to act on it, rather than follow their plan to return home, he would almost be there by now. She had no doubt he would be riding into a trap.

‘You must go, Lord Andrew!’ she cried, pushing Pritchard to his horse. ‘You must continue to Alberon’s camp and try and convey your message to him! You must
fly
!’

Christopher and Sól handed Pritchard his weapons and he leapt onto his horse.

‘What will you do?’ he shouted, holding the animal in place. They had no answer for him. ‘Get yourselves back to the palace! Keep the Lord Razi safe and wait for news.’ And with a brief, frowning look of despair he pulled his horse around and galloped back onto the trail.

Christopher watched Pritchard rapidly disappear from view. ‘I suppose it’s useless offering my opinion,’ he said.

‘Unless it differs from your usual suggestion that we leave this mess behind and head to the Moroccos,’ said Wynter.

‘It doesn’t have to be the Moroccos,’ he said. ‘Anywhere would do.’

Wynter smiled sadly at him, and he sighed. ‘Come on, Sól. Let’s get the horses, and call Boro in from his hunt.’

‘Huh,’ grunted Sólmundr as they turned to go. ‘You better explain to me that man or it danger that I get cranky.’

The two men began to walk away.

‘Thank you, Christopher,’ called Wynter, not really wanting him to leave without him having had his say.

Christopher paused. He turned back. His eyes flitted briefly to Razi. ‘This is his chance, you know,’ he said. ‘It don’t matter what they want, they can’t make use of him now. He could be free, if you let him walk away. He could be free of the lot of them and we could all start afresh.’

He stood for a moment, waiting for her reply, and when she couldn’t give him one he nodded and turned away again. Wynter had the horrible feeling he was turning away for good.

‘Christopher!’ she cried.

He glanced back. ‘Hold your peace, woman,’ he said softly. ‘I’m only off to get the horses.’

They smiled, each understanding the other, then, with a last glance at Razi, Christopher headed off to do his job.

‘They delivered a man’s head in a sack?’ whispered Razi.

Wynter turned to him without answering.

‘A friend of mine? They delivered his head in a sack?’

‘Razi,’ she asked gently, ‘do you recall nothing at all?’

He put his hand to his head. ‘It does not bother me until I am prompted. Then I realise . . . I seem to have no thoughts!’

‘That sounds peaceful,’ she said.

‘It
is
!’ he admitted. ‘It’s really quite peaceful – until I realise that it is not normal.’ Razi glanced at her, almost ashamed, and said, ‘I must confess, it does not sound like I have much worth remembering.’

Is that what this is?
she thought.
Have you surrendered?
‘My Lord,’ she said carefully. ‘Much as you might wish to, you are not a man who can afford to forget.’

His face fell in horror, and Wynter immediately regretted her suspicion. ‘You think I
feign
this?’ he cried. ‘That I somehow
desire
to be this way? You think this is cowardice! That I shirk, and dissemble this affliction!’

‘No, Razi!’ She grabbed his arm. ‘No! Not at all!’ But he had seen it in her face, and he went to shake her off. ‘I’m sorry!’ she said. ‘I’m sorry! Truly!’

His anger transformed to despair, and he clutched her hand and squeezed it, looking around him in utter confusion. ‘I do not know what to do,’ he whispered.

‘Well, we must do something, Razi. Even if it is to simply pick one action and stick with it to the last. We must do
something
. And we must do it
now
.’

DAY TEN: IRREVOCABLY
COMMITTED

I
N THE
end it was Wynter who made the decision, and to her surprise the others fell in with it. It was a strange feeling, laying out the maps and plotting their route while three men nodded and listened intently to her opinions. She was unaccustomed to that. She was unaccustomed to the undiluted responsibility. It was terrifying.

Three days later, deep in the heart of a stately pine forest, she lay next to a tiny fire and watched as the last light of day drained from the tops of the trees. The knowledge of how randomly she had chosen this course of action burned in the pit of her belly; it lay like lead in her chest. Everything,
everything
, rested on her having taken a flip of a mental coin. There had been nothing logical about it. She had simply played an internal game of eeny-meeny-miny-mo and chosen a course of action by chance.

Each time she shut her eyes, she saw Razi and Sól and Christopher as they had been when she persuaded them to do this: brown eyes, blue eyes and grey, staring gravely at her and trusting her.
Jesu.
And tomorrow would reveal the truth. Tomorrow morning they would finally reach the Chér Ford, there to discover . . . what?

‘You’ll stick like that.’

She startled and looked up into Christopher’s smiling face. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’re lying there with your face knotted like a handkerchief . . . it’ll stick like that if the wind changes.’ He plopped down beside her and shrugged his blankets around him. ‘I wouldn’t be able to love you anymore if that happened, you know. You’d be much too ugly.’

She laughed.

‘Stop fretting,’ he whispered gently.

‘I can’t, Christopher. I really can’t. What if I’ve made the wrong choice? What if we get there and all we find is the remains of some bandit’s meet-up or the litter of a hunter’s camp. We’ll have wasted so much time. I’ll have thrown all Albi’s chances away.’

‘Lass.’ He took her hand, rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. ‘What’s done is done. Truth is, you were the only one of us with balls enough to make a decision. Had you left us to it, we’d
still
be on that mountain side dithering to and fro while the Wolves snickered at us from the rocks.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘Yes, we
would
. You quite ruined things for poor Sól, you know. He had lovely dreams of setting up home there with Razi. He’d picked a nice little spot for a hut and everything.’

Sólmundr grimaced at him from across the flames and went back to checking Boro for ticks. ‘Razi should to be that lucky,’ he murmured.

‘I still do not understand what purpose I shall serve you,’ said Razi softly. He tapped his temple. ‘I am as blank as a clean slate.’

‘You are our access to the King, Razi,’ said Wynter. ‘After that,’ she held up Alberon’s folder, ‘these will have to speak for themselves.’

He regarded the folder with uncertainty, sighed, and rubbed his forehead. ‘If you say so,’ he said and lay back, wrapping himself in his covers. His head was aching again; Wynter could tell by the tension in his eyes and mouth. She had hoped these headaches were signal to a change in Razi’s condition, but so far they had been nothing but pain: mild, slightly nauseating, and totally free of the burden of memory.

Out in the darkness, the Loups-Garous began their low moaning, and Christopher threw his hands up in frustration and despair. ‘Good Frith,’ he said. ‘Bloody . . .’ He jumped to his feet. ‘Shut up!’ he yelled.

The Wolves chuckled and snickered. ‘Make us,’ they growled. ‘Come and make us, sly-boy.’ They drew the word ‘boy’ out until it was something low and wicked and dirty. Wynter hissed in disgust.

Christopher kicked a stone into the darkness. ‘You come here,’ he muttered. ‘You slithering
caic
. I’ll feed you to the dog.’

‘You calm down,’ said Sólmundr, ‘or I chain
you
to my ankle, and it be Boro that wriggle up beside your woman tonight.’

‘Why are they still here, anyway?’ hissed Christopher, prowling the edges of the shadows. ‘Why don’t they go back to their master?
Why don’t you go back to your master?
’ he shouted.

Sólmundr looked up at him, his face serious. ‘Because you giving them too much amusement, Coinín. Look at you! They play with you like a toy.’

Christopher flung him a withering look and continued to prowl.

Razi, still lying back against his saddle, watched him pace, his dark eyes thoughtful. ‘David Le Garou,’ he said suddenly, and everyone turned to look at him. He nodded at the question in their faces. ‘I remember him. David Le Garou.’ He gazed at Christopher. ‘We owe him,’ he said darkly. ‘I remember that too.’

Christopher stood very still, as if frightened to disrupt Razi’s newly emergent thoughts. Wynter sat slowly forward. Razi, his hands folded casually on his chest, looked from one to the other of them with the same mildly curious frown on his face. ‘You are both very good friends of mine, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘We’ve known each other a terribly long time.’

Wynter nodded.

‘I owe you both,’ said Razi. ‘I owe you much.’ Then he shook his head, sighed and shut his eyes. ‘Yet I still cannot recall your names.’

‘Do you remember your brother, Razi?’

‘A small boy? Full of life? He loves his hounds . . . Oh,’ he cried, his eyes flying open in surprise. ‘I have remembered my father! He was a
wonderful
man! Gentle. Kind. He taught me much.’

Christopher exchanged a glance with Wynter. ‘What did he look like?’ he asked.

‘But you knew him surely, Chris?’