As Olvric had signalled originally, there were at least twelve of them, all with weapons drawn; too many to be tackled at the moment, without putting the Queen at risk. In addition, there was no telling how many more might be out in the darkness awaiting events. They were a mixture of young and middle-aged men and unmis-takably Morlider both in their features and their random array of clothing and arms. Yengar noted, however, that those who were not hooded had a driven, harassed look about them.
They’re running and hiding, he thought. But this revelation told him little else. What was such a small group doing so far from the coast? In the war, the Morlider had sent deep penetration groups inland to gather information, but this couldn’t be the case here. These were making no attempt to disguise themselves, and had refused to accept the pretence of being Muster riders that Olvric had offered them.
A more chilling thought occurred to him. Had they been separated from an army in some battle? It seemed ridiculous. If the Morlider had returned in force again, some message would surely have reached Fyorlund? But it could have, he realized. The normal route for messengers from Riddin to Fyorlund was further south and led into the estates of the southern Lords amp;mdashwhose loyalty was unknown! The fear in his stomach twisted again amp;mdashthey could have led their Queen into the middle of a war!
These conjectures flooded through Yengar’s mind in the brief moments it took Sylvriss to step out of the shelter and face the man Drago. Other thoughts came even more quickly. What was to be their fate? Prisoners? Hostages? No. Twelve men would not burden themselves with six and a woman. Victims? Possibly. Some Morlider had a reputation for a rudimentary chivalry and a sense of honour; others hadn’t. Yet these were talking; had their intent been purely murder, they would have waited until the camp was asleep. He looked at them again. Bedraggled and dispirited, they were beyond doubt hunted, but they were far from defeated. They probably just wanted supplies, he decided cautiously. Here was a bargaining space. The only serious problem would be Sylvriss. What danger was she in? Still…
Yengar noted that his fear had changed. The trem-bling that had been his initial response had diffused itself through his entire body, and he knew that he was now free to respond immediately to whatever threat presented itself. Two stray thoughts fluttered momen-tarily across his mind: one, that he was too old for this kind of thing; the other, that he was now wholly himself and had never been better equipped. He ignored both, and stepped forward.
‘Commander Drago,’ he said. ‘Is this the way the Muster treat strangers? Weapons and threats?’
Drago ignored him. He looked Sylvriss up and down appraisingly.
‘Fyordyn, eh?’ he said to Olvric, without taking his gaze from Sylvriss.
‘Yes,’ Olvric said nervously. ‘We’re only servants, sir. On our way to join our Lord down here, but the snows caught us in the mountains and… ’
‘Servants?’ said Drago, showing his teeth and reach-ing out to grip Sylvriss’s cloak. ‘In clothes like these?’
Olvric looked surprised. ‘We have a kind and gener-ous Lord. He looks after us well,’ he said.
Drago turned to him scornfully, then threw open Sylvriss’s cloak. ‘A very kind Lord indeed,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Who expects a pregnant "maid" to drag herself over the mountains to tend to him.’
Eyes blazing, Sylvriss wrenched herself free and pulled her cloak about her.
Olvric retreated from his story hastily before the Queen could speak. ‘It’s his child,’ he said confidentially, man to man, but looking suitably contrite at the exposure of his deception. ‘We’re taking her to friends in Riddin to get her away from his wife.’
This version provoked some obscene laughter from the watching men, and even Drago chuckled. ‘Well, she’s ours now. And the kid,’ he added, almost reluctantly, Yengar thought. ‘Still, we’ve no time to play the fool with you, whoever you are,’ Drago went on. ‘We need horses and food.’ He swung his finger between Yengar and Olvric, at the same time pointing his axe into the shelter. ‘Don’t give us any trouble and you’ll not get hurt.’
The blond man turned sharply. ‘Are you crazy, Drago?’ he burst out. ‘We can’t leave them alive. They’ll tell the Muster we’ve been here.’
Drago shook his head. ‘The Muster probably know near enough where we are,’ he rasped. ‘If they find corpses, they’ll be out in real force and we’ll have no chance. Do as you’re told. Get the horses.’
‘We could hide the bodies… ’
‘Do as you’re told, Symm,’ Drago erupted suddenly and furiously. ‘You and that stinking knife will get us all killed yet.’
The blond man’s face contorted with anger, and he turned the blade towards Drago.
Drago looked at him icily. ‘Use it or put it away. Count of three,’ he said softly but without hesitation. The hand holding the axe went behind his back, leaving his front seemingly defenceless.
‘One.’
Yengar and Olvric watched intently. Symm did not move.
‘Two.’
Symm’s eyes flickered over the watchers, most of whom had taken a pace backwards. He swallowed nervously.
Drago formed the word ‘three’, but Symm’s left hand went out before he could speak it. ‘Peace,’ he said, his voice hoarse and bitter. Drago did not move.
Slowly Symm replaced the knife in its scabbard, his jaw working.
‘My friendship for your father won’t save you if you do anything like that again,’ Drago said angrily. ‘You give me one more problem, Symm, and the Muster’ll find your corpse. Now get those horses and start looking for food.’
The blond man nodded to some of the others, and they wandered off into the darkness.
Drago took hold of Sylvriss’s arm. ‘You’re ours now, woman,’ he said. ‘Don’t be frightened. No one’s going to hurt you if you behave.’ His tone was incongruously paternal.
Sylvriss caught Yengar’s eye and in response to his urgent appeal she remained silent.
‘If you’re running from the Muster, you don’t want her with you,’ Yengar said. ‘She rides like a duck and has to stop and rest every two minutes. That’s why the snows caught us. She’ll hold you back.’
Drago looked at Sylvriss uncertainly. ‘She doesn’t look like the complaining type to me,’ he said. Then, taking her chin roughly, he turned her face so that the torchlight from the entrance to the shelter fell on it. A tremor went through her body and Drago tightened his grip as if he were shaking a wilful dog.
‘No,’ he said confidently. ‘Look at those eyes. This one doesn’t complain. She’s more likely to knife you in your sleep.’
‘Either way,’ said Yengar with a shrug. ‘She’s a prob-lem.’
Drago looked inclined to agree, but, ‘It’s the new Chief’s law,’ he said resignedly. ‘It’s more than my neck’s worth not to, especially as she’s pregnant. We need the breeding stock.’ He dismissed his hesitation. ‘Anyway,’ he said scornfully, ‘I don’t need advice on how to handle women from some Fyordyn servant who can’t even find his way across dry land. I’ve not met a woman yet that couldn’t be brought to heel with a whipping if need arose. You save your concern for yourselves. It’s a long way to anywhere from here.’
Yengar was about to reply when there was a crash nearby, followed by a series of colourful curses. Suddenly a brilliant light flared up. Yengar turned away quickly, but not until he had caught a glimpse of a man picking himself up off the ground while another, holding the unusually brilliant torch, was reaching down to help him. Various other individuals were struggling to harness the now startled horses.
‘Put that out,’ Drago thundered. ‘It’ll be seen miles away.’