"They are the Wolfhounds, Razi," said Wynter. "The Warhounds. Their breed is exclusively the property of the Merron. No other people are allowed ownership of them."

"Then these people are Merron?"

Christopher laughed again and ran his hand over his face. "Good Frith," he said, grinning.

Razi's brow creased in concern and he turned troubled eyes to the river. The ferry had lowered its gate against the pier and the Merron were making their way onto shore. "What are Merron doing in my father's kingdom?" he said tightly.

Wynter glanced at Christopher, expecting him to prickle at Razi's wary tone, but their friend just shook his head, his eyes wide. "I have no idea. I have never heard of our people coming this far south."

"Might they be in alliance with Alberon?"

Christopher grimaced, spreading his hands apologetically. "I'm afraid that my father was the least political of men, Razi, despite his having been a filid born and bred. He kept me well out of such matters and I have no understanding or love of politics. I cannot help you with this." He flicked his eyes to Wynter. "Can you, sweetheart? It seems more within your field of experience."

Wynter shrugged. "We did encounter Bear and Panther Merron in Shirken's Kingdom. They were suffering badly under Shirken's repression of the old religions and father was trying to get them some leeway for freedom of practice and retention of rights of way. But," she shook her head, "I cannot say that I understand the Merron, Razi. I cannot comment on what they might be doing here."

"What tribes are these, Christopher?" asked Razi, gesturing to the inn and looking searchingly at his friend.

"How can I tell from this distance? Grow some sense, man!"

"Look," Wynter pointed to the trees across from them and they all sank a little lower again as a long line of men and women began to descend from the forest. There were nine in all, their horses following beside them, and as they advanced upon the ferry party they raised their hands and called out in Merron.

There was some exchange of formal greetings, and much deference was given to the masters of the six wolfhounds. The great dogs flanked their owners like watchful soldiers, eyeing each person who advanced and lowering their snarling lips only at the light touch of their masters' hands. The gentle evening light rebounded softly from rings and torques and brooches and gleamed on the fine metalwork that detailed the dogs' collars and the horses' tack. Such rich clothing, such fine animals-this was a diplomatic party, there could be no doubt of it.

So, Albi, thought Wynter. You have invited the Merron to your table. She shook her head, she could think of no purpose to this. The Merron swore allegiance to no king, bowed their knee to no nobility but their own. What was more, they were exclusively a Northern people, never venturing south. Why were they here?

She glanced at Christopher. He was watching closely as the Merron led their horses from the pier. He seemed just as puzzled as herself, and his face was dark with thought as he watched his people pass out of sight and into the stable yard of the inn.

Merron.

"Now listen close and pay attention," Christopher stripped off his tunic as he came around from the barn and rolled the sleeves of his undershirt to the shoulder, exposing his snake bracelets. "These are Bear Merron. Set, devoted and mad wed to the old ways. Very high and mighty when it comes to etiquette. If you were coimhthioch they wouldn't pay no mind to you, and you could act as you pleased, but you're not foreigners, you're with me, and they'll expect some decorum from you."

Wynter and Razi exchanged worried glances. Christopher was busy unbinding his hair and he kept up his rapid instructions as he shook it from its tight coil and let it fall down around his shoulders.

"You cannot wear any concealed weapons," he said, bending to take his dagger from his boot and slipping it into his belt. "If you have any jewellery-rings, pendants, bracelets, you'll have to wear them where they can be seen; otherwise it implies you do not trust the company." He reached behind Wynter's head and undid her hair, running his hands through it and shaking it out around her shoulders. She looked up at him while he was doing so and he glanced into her eyes, giving her a brief, fond smile.

"Lovely!" he whispered.

He stepped back and looked expectantly at herself and Razi. He was buzzing like a hive of bees, glowing with excitement. They stared blankly at him and he spread his hands. "Jewellery?" he prompted, "hidden weapons?"

Wynter pulled her guild pendant from the neck of her undershirt, allowing it to lie openly against her tunic. Razi looked down at himself as if concerned something about his apparel might take him by surprise. "Um," he said anxiously.

Christopher rolled his eyes in amusement. Then he slapped his hands together and thought for a moment. "Let me see, let me see," he said.

They had decided to approach the inn openly, and to try and establish some rapport with the Merron. While Wynter and Razi had distracted the stable lad with instructions for the care of their mounts, Christopher had strolled up and down the stalls, looking at the tribe markings on the Merron horses. Now they huddled in the stable yard by the back door of the inn, while the noise inside began to swell into what sounded suspiciously like a party.

Christopher grinned, distracted, as someone inside began to tune up a fiddle.

"All right, Garron!" he said, shaking himself. "What do these folk need to know? Yes! Now. Look, I'm not too certain of a welcome here myself, so it may be that we'll get short shrift, but should we be allowed stay-"

Suddenly, the interior of the inn exploded into a roaring cheer and a wild tune was struck up on fiddle, flute and drum. There were whoops and roars, and Christopher's fragile solemnity shattered into another grin. Wynter smiled fondly and Razi grinned at their friend's obvious happiness. Christopher bent his head, ran his hands over his face and looked up at them, his eyes serious.

"Don't go near those dogs," he cautioned. "They'll take the head off your shoulders if they think you're going to harm their owners. That's no story! They will decapitate a man as easy as eat their supper. Wait for an invitation to the master's table, and if an invitation don't come, stay clear! If anyone does this to you ..." He lowered his eyelids slightly and bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. It was a gesture of such obvious sexual invitation that Wynter blazed red in embarrassment. Christopher chuckled. "Just smile politely," he said, "and look away." He glanced at Razi, his face stern. "I don't want any of your foolishness in there, Razi. If a man makes the gesture to you, just treat it as the compliment it is and react with good grace."

Razi grimaced miserably. Christopher turned to Wynter. "Girly," he began, "if anyone ..." He paused and something stilled in him, as if he had been spinning somehow, without her noticing, and had only now come to a halt. "Actually," he said, gazing into her face. "Actually ..."

He reached out and snagged a long strand of wool from Wynter's tunic, then pulled one from the hem of his own. He quickly twisted the threads together, entwining the dark green wool of hers and the black wool of his own to make a single cord. This he tied around Wynter's wrist. Then he repeated the process, holding out the second bracelet for her to tie around his arm.

Wynter looked up at him as her fingers brushed the delicate flesh of his wrist.

"Are we wed now, Christopher?" she teased.

Christopher blushed, not certain what she wanted to hear. "Just pretending. So that... to make things easier for you."

Wynter paused and tilted her head back, looking him in the eye. "Just pretending?" She smiled wickedly and held his eyes as she finished knotting the cord around his wrist, then kept her hand on his arm. They stood gazing at each other, while within the tavern the music swung into a jig. Christopher's lips curved gently.

"Lass," he whispered.

Razi coughed and they glanced at him, startled. "I am not so certain that I am happy with that," he said.

Wynter's heart sank, and Christopher's expression drew down into a sudden, fierce resentment. He took firm hold of her hand, and stepped forward. "Not happy with what, Razi?" he said. "What exactly is it that you are not happy with?"

Razi met his furious grey eyes and pouted in a most un-Razi-like manner.

"Well, how come Wynter gets to wed you?" he said. "When surely it is I who most needs your protection?" He held out his wrist in mock supplication. "Wed me, Chris! Wed me and save me from those wicked Merron men."

Wynter laughed in relief, and Christopher punched Razi hard in the arm. "You bloody menace!" he growled, "I'll feed you to them!"

There was another roar from the inn and the three of them turned their faces to the door. Christopher squeezed Wynter's hand and glanced at Razi. "Are you ready?" he said. They nodded and without any more hesitation made their way inside.

The heat was tremendous, and the small room seemed thronged with giants. They slunk around the edges of the crowd and claimed a table that had been shoved up against the wall. Wynter and Razi sat themselves down, tensely facing the room, while Christopher remained standing.

The entire company of Merron had their backs turned, their attention seemingly focused on the music, but Wynter had no doubt that every living person had noted their entrance. Christopher bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, his grin uncontrollable as he surveyed the room.

Wynter turned to Razi, a question poised on her lips, and the look on his face stilled her. Razi was staring across the room, his brown eyes unusually wide, his lips parted. It was the same expression he sometimes had on first awakening-an innocent, round-eyed kind of wonder that Wynter had sometimes caught in him before the world inevitably rushed in and stole it. It plucked her heart, this expression; it was so rare in him. She turned to follow his gaze.

He was looking at four people seated on the opposite side of the room. The indisputable leaders of this rowdy throng of men and women, they sat with their backs to the wall, looking out at their people. The six warhounds lay on the floor, their huge heads resting on their paws, their intelligent brown eyes following the movement of the crowd, an immutable barrier between their masters' table and the rest of the room.

Wynter regarded this group with interest. Yes, she thought, these are the ones we should try and get to know. Of all here they would have the information we seek.

But there was no political interest in Razi's appraising look, and she was amused to find his attention solely focused on the female member of the party. Wynter dug her elbow into his side and he jumped.

"Pardon?" he said, startled.

Wynter held his eyes and grinned. "Interesting people," she said dryly.

Razi blushed and made a show of looking to where Christopher stood, tapping his foot to the music, his way blocked by a solid wall of Merron backs. Just then, Christopher, apparently tired of the view, reached out and poked the man in front of him. The man, a great hairy bruiser, ignored him, but Christopher was not so easily dismissed, and to Wynter's alarm, he tugged sharply at the man's long red hair.

The man spun with a snarl, his fist pulling back, and Razi and Wynter lurched forward in dismay. But something in Christopher's grin seemed to hit home, and the man paused in mid-swing, his face questioning. Wynter saw him take in Christopher's fine, pale skin and his long hair. His eyes slid to the tops of Christopher's arms and his eyebrows rose at the unlikely sight of the snake bracelets. The man lowered his meaty fist. Smiling, Christopher waved a hand in the direction of the unseen musicians and asked a question in polite, respectful Merron.

"Le meas, a dhuine uasail. Ach ce hiad na ceoltoiri?"

The big Merron tilted his head uncertainly and growled, "Ce thu fein, a luch?"

Christopher smiled. "Gabh mo leithsceal, ach b'fheidirgo n-inseofa doibh go bhfuil Coinin Garron, mac Aidan an Filid, anseo." He bowed. "Mura mhiste leat."

The huge man looked at him uncertainly, then pushed away through the crowd. Christopher bounced happily up and down, waiting.

"Christopher!" hissed Razi tensely. "Chris!" but Christopher had barely time to fling a placating gesture at him before a roar interrupted the music.

As one, the Merron turned to stare at the slim, pale man standing at the edge of their circle. Wynter swallowed at how incredibly slight Christopher looked beside them. He gazed up into their wild, bearded, frowning faces and grinned.

"Sceal?" he said impudently.

Wynter leapt as two huge men suddenly grabbed Christopher around the waist and flung him into the air. Christopher howled. Within the blink of an eye Razi had his sword in his hand and was on his feet, shoving the table out of his way. Wynter leapt to his side. At their sudden movement, the four noble-folk startled, their hands dropping to their weapons. The great dogs rose and silently bared their teeth.

It only took a moment for Razi and Wynter to see that Christopher's howl had been one of joy. Slowly, they lowered their weapons and gaped in disbelief as their friend was hoisted over the Merron's heads. Christopher whooped, the Merron laughed and he was passed from hand to hand across the crowd.

Wynter looked around for a better vantage point, then hopped onto the table so she could witness her friend's progress across the room. Razi, his sword still in his hand, leapt onto the bench at her side and the two of them watched, round-eyed, as a delighted Christopher bobbed away from them like a leaf on water. He was eventually deposited, feet first, onto a raised platform where a man and two women were standing, waiting for him.

Christopher landed with a little bounce and stood smiling at the musicians, suddenly shy. The man and younger woman regarded him with glittering eyes, saying nothing, but the older woman launched herself at him with a little shriek and dragged him into a violent hug. She was a good head taller than Christopher and quite overcome with emotion. She squeezed so tightly that Wynter feared for her friend's ribcage.

Christopher laughed against the woman's bony chest, murmuring something soothing and he lifted his arm to pat her on the back, unintentionally revealing his hands to the man. At the sight of the dreadful scars, the man roared in horror and grabbed Christopher by the wrists, dragging him around to face him. He pulled Christopher's hands up to his eyes, as if doubting what he saw, then gave a great cry of devastation. The women wailed.

Christopher leant back, tugging at the horrified man's grip, his face desperate. He said something and made an awful attempt at a grin, but the man held on, staring at Christopher's ruined hands. The crowd fell silent and Wynter's heart dropped. Razi moaned quietly. This would be so far from what Christopher would want.

There was a long emptiness of silence, and for a terrible moment, Wynter thought the evening was lost to her friend. Then Christopher broke free of the man's grip, leapt to the side and snatched up one of those wide, flat drums the Merron so loved. He swung to the crowd, and with a desperate yell commenced beating out an intricate, driving rhythm.

Everyone stared at him.

Come on! thought Wynter, willing the crowd to respond. Come on!

Christopher yelled again and began to stamp his foot. Wynter started to clap in time with the drum.

Suddenly, a man in the crowd whooped in counterpoint to Christopher's driving tattoo. Someone else began to clap in time, and gradually the sound of stamping began to vibrate up through the floor.

"Yes," hissed Razi.

The younger musician rose abruptly to her feet. She grabbed her fiddle and shoved it beneath her chin. She stood for a moment, eyes closed, bow poised, waiting as her body caught the cadence of the drum. Then she was away, the rhythm overtaking her, her hands flying, and music joyous as sunshine spun out from her bow. Christopher whirled towards her, his hair flying, his face lit with joy.

The older woman bent to retrieve something from the table. When she turned she had a recorder held to her lips. She nodded in time to the music, and then she too was away, carried forward and up with the sheer joy, the sheer exuberance of the drum. The crowd roared and stamped, and Christopher whooped. The man jammed his fiddle under his cheek and let fly.

Wynter and Razi stood for a long moment, watching as Christopher lost himself to what he used to be. Then the landlord came over and rapped his knuckles on the table at Wynter's feet, pointedly looking up at herself and Razi. Wynter blushed, wiped her eyes, and stepped primly from the tabletop to take her seat.

Razi, however, took his own sweet time in getting down from his perch. As he descended from on high, Wynter glanced at the table of Merron nobles, and to her delight she caught the woman giving her tall, long-legged pirate a very appreciative look. Razi adjusted his sword and folded his hands on the table, all the time staring coolly at the landlord.

The Merron woman laughed in amusement and leant to murmur to her neighbour. He turned with a fond smile and Wynter realised that they were twins. There could be no doubt of it; they were the same height, both tall and slim with high sloping cheekbones and clear, dark-blue eyes. The man's face was slightly heavier boned than the woman's and dressed with a neat beard, but they shared a similar cool beauty that made Wynter think of tapestries and fairytales.

The man pushed his hair back behind his ear and listened to his sister's murmured comment. His mouth curved into a smile and he looked Razi up and down with amusement as his sister glanced back their way. They both had luminous waterfalls of blond hair. The woman's fell around her shoulders and down her back like lemon fire.

No wonder Razi noticed you, thought Wynter. You are like sunshine on ice. The woman dipped her head and smiled another comment to her brother. She looked older than Razi, well into her late twenties, but Wynter decided that they would make a handsome couple. The pirate and his pale lady, she thought. That would be lovely to see. Then she thought slyly, perhaps this will be our way to their table.

Caoirigh Beo.

"You are being watched, Razi," murmured Wynter, as she took a sip of her cordial.

Razi lifted his eyes and discreetly took in the room. "Where?" he asked. He had been pointedly ignoring the noblemen ever since Wynter had caught him eyeing the woman, and so had not noticed the amount of attention he was getting from that quarter.

Wynter chuckled. "Your pale lady seems quite taken with you. It must be the beard."

Razi tutted irritably, but he glanced across the room nonetheless, and then looked quickly away. The lady must still have been watching. He immediately began fiddling with the hem of his sleeve and Wynter felt a great rush of tenderness for him as the colour rose in his cheeks. She pucked him in the arm, and his teeth flashed in a quick grin.

Wynter found it very tempting to fall into their old tease and rattle. But she cleared her throat and forced herself to concentrate on their surroundings. She reminded herself that Razi was one of the most hated men in this kingdom. At every turn of his back there were daggers and wolves, and an entire way of life depended on his actions. It would not do to forget their precarious position.

She glanced sideways at him, and saw him cast another fleeting glance at the blonde lady. Wynter smiled. What harm? she thought. To see him so charmed for a little while, and so distracted. Can't Christopher and I watch his back?

She glanced around the room as she took another sip of her drink. The Merron were starting to dance, and she regarded them with interest. Her father had described Merron dancing to her wild, swinging set-pieces, complex and fast. Lorcan said he had never seen dancers leap so high. Wynter wondered if Christopher could dance like that. Maybe he would show her how? Razi tapped the table in time to the music. Somewhere across the crowd Christopher was still working the drum, adding his own thread to the sound, happy and wild. They had ordered him a meal, but Wynter did not think they would be seeing him for quite some time.

Despite her best intentions, she did not notice the two men crossing the room until Razi got warily to his feet, his hand on his sword. Wynter rose to join him, and met the men's eyes as they approached.

One of them she recognised as having come from the nobleman's table. He had been seated at the left hand of the male twin and had been much amused by the pale lady's interest in Razi. Sandy-haired, wiry and slightly stooped, Wynter guessed this man was in his early thirties, though it was hard to tell because his pale face was so very weathered. He wore the symbolic bracelets of the Bear Merron at the tops of his bare arms and a plaited band of copper and silver on his wrist. He had an air of slouching good-humour, and as he came to the table, he pushed his curling hair behind his ears and smiled with open curiosity. Wynter saw that he was missing two top teeth and his neck and wrists were ringed with old scars. His companion, a broad-shouldered brown-haired giant, looked down at herself and Razi with similar openness and curiosity.

The sandy-haired man offered his hand, and Razi shook it. Then, without deferring to Razi, the man turned and offered his hand to Wynter as if she too were a man. She accepted this as if it were normal, nodding as he met her eye. His hand was very strong, callused and tough as if his palms were made of polished wood, and his slim arms were like corded iron. He began to introduce himself in Merron, saw that they did not understand him, and paused, his forehead creased.

"I am terribly sorry for our ignorance," said Razi. "We have no understanding of your language."

The two Merron looked at each other.

The sandy-haired man cast a glance at the noblemen's table, and the male twin raised his eyebrows in query. The man waved the twin's attention away, as if to say give me a moment and, with a determined roll of his shoulders, turned and addressed Wynter and Razi in Garmain. Wynter could speak this Northland tongue quite well, but she knew that Razi could not, so she stayed silent. Razi tried French and then Italian, but to no avail.

The Merron men sighed in frustration.

"Forgive me," said Wynter in Hadrish, "but do we perhaps share this language?"

The sandy-haired man gave a cry of delight and flashed his gap-toothed grin. He bowed slightly to Wynter and Razi and said, "With respect, honoured people, the Lords talk with Hadran tongue; it would be our pleasure for you would join us at our table for visit?" His hoarse voice and the drawling burr of his accent were warm and somehow reassuring. He indicated his companion, who had already turned away and was craning to see over the crowd. "Wari will get your small friend," he said.

Wynter felt a pang of regret that Christopher's fun would be cut short so soon, but neither herself nor Razi moved to prevent the man named Wari from whistling for attention and waving towards the stage. It was time to play politics and they would need Christopher's knowledge of the Merron to guide them. They went to gather their stuff, but the sandy-haired man waved them off with a frown. "All safe," he said, impatiently. "All good."