Ashkr stood tall, his face rigid with anger, his blond hair drifting around him in the evening light. "You fix Wari, Tabiyb!" he said coldly. "Now! You make Wari good, and not do more harm." Razi, his hands to his throat, looked up into Ashkr's furious eyes and nodded.

"I have broken your collarbone," said Razi, indicating the bandages that held Wari's huge arm to his chest. "I'm afraid you must keep your arm like this for at least two months, so that the soft ends of the bone may harden against each other. It is vital that ..." As Razi proceeded with a stream of instructions, Wari continued to glare at him. Ashkr, who insisted on communicating through his sparse Hadrish, stood over them both and translated as best he could.

At the fire, Wynter placed her empty soup howl on the ground and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. The hounds followed her every movement with their eyes. "Christopher," she whispered. "Why doesn't Ashkr just speak Merron and have you translate?"

"If Ashkr starts to speak Merron, girly, you'll know he thinks yourself and Razi below respect and we will be in real trouble." He looked down at his untouched soup and held the bowl out to one of the hounds. It glanced guiltily towards Ashkr and slunk forward. Christopher put the bowl on the ground, and watched as the huge creature ate the meal he seemed to have no stomach for. Then he addressed Ashkr in cold Hadrish.

"What do you want with us, Caora? Why are you here?"

Ashkr glanced at him. Then he turned back to Razi who was looking up at him, wiping his bloody hands on a cloth. Ashkr still had his sword in his hand, levelled at Razi's head. "Can Wari be safe on horse now, Tabiyb? Can we go on?"

Razi nodded. "It will cause him pain, and he must be careful that-"

Before Razi could finish, Wari had pushed himself to his feet and turned for his horse.

Ashkr gestured with his sword, motioning Razi to his horse. "Come," he snapped. "Get things. Get doctor things. We go."

Razi rose slowly to his feet, Wynter and Christopher did the same.

"Are you asking for my help?" asked Razi. "After your people ran off and left us? After they left Christopher?"

"Safety of my peoples come before that of strangers. We needed move quick."

"But now you need my help? Is that it? Now you need me, so you-"

"What has happened?" interrupted Christopher, his eyes on Ashkr.

Ashkr snapped his attention to him. "Solmundr bad," he said. "He near... near to... Sol bad. Need help."

"Oh," said Christopher softly, "Solmundr."

Ashkr looked back to Razi, deep distress evident in his face. "Sol not want you help him, Tabiyb. He think ..." He dropped his eyes. Whatever it was that Solmundr thought, Ashkr decided not to share, instead he rambled on in broken Hadrish, his expression more and more desperate. "Ulfnaor not want you help, he say that Hallvor do all. Ach Hallvor, duairt si... Hallvor, she say that nothing left she do can to help." Ashkr shook his head at that, his face crumbling. "But I want you help, Tabiyb. I want you save Sol, like Coinin say you able." He looked pleadingly at Razi. "Please, Tabiyb, to you I am begging. Fix Sol."

To Wynter's utter shock, Razi's face grew stiff as ice and he shook his head coldly.

"Go to hell," he snarled.

Ashkr gaped. Wari stood with his hand on his horse's neck and froze in absolute horror. He perhaps did not fully understand the words, but he couldn't possibly have missed the sentiment. "Cad e?" he said, his tone one of disbelief.

"Go to hell," repeated Razi. "How dare you? After-?"

"Tabhair noimead duinn," said Christopher, stepping forward with a strained smile, holding his hand up to the stunned Merron.

Razi rounded on him. "What did you just say?" he growled in Southlandast. "What did you just say, Christopher? Because I am not helping them! I'm not! Why should I?"

"Because that's who you are! You're a man who fixes; you're a man who heals. Or have the Wolves stolen that from us too?"

Razi blinked, and his eyes slid away.

"Besides," said Christopher, nodding reassuringly to Ashkr, and moving to pick up their things. There was a trace of his old sly humour in his voice and he glanced at Wynter and gave her a weary half-smile as he said, "I have a feeling the Merron might know the way to your brother's camp a lot better than we do."

The Will of the World.

Ashkr set a gruelling pace, forging relentlessly onwards, his face set, his posture taut. Wynter could tell that he was trying hard to make allowances for their ragged state, but if anyone lagged behind for too long, the desperate man would eventually heave his mount in a tight circle, gallop around to the straggler and ride alongside them, urging, "Hurry! Hurry! Please, to you I am begging, can you hurry?"

Over an hour later, when they finally crested a hill and found themselves looking down on the Merron camp, Wynter almost fell from her horse with pain and relief. Beside her, Wari moaned what sounded like a prayer of thanksgiving, and Christopher relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the pommel of his saddle. Razi, silent for the whole journey, sat rigid and wary, looking down at the tents below.

Ashkr spurred his horse down the hill and between the tents, heading for the rear of the camp. His hounds accompanied him, baying and howling, and the other dogs flowed from the shadows to greet them. It was very late in the evening, dusk settling in a rosy haze over the tops of the trees, and glowing cookfires scented the misty air. All around the camp, men and women exited tents and rose from campfires, looking up at the little knot of travellers that straggled behind their returning lord.

"Wari!" shouted a woman, panic evident in her voice. "Wari!" She began to run forward, and Wari, hearing her voice, straightened from his agonised slump. He lifted his good arm in weary greeting as he trotted from the trees, and several men and women advanced on him in concern. There were noises of outrage over his injury. Razi began to walk his horse through the crowding Merron, and Wynter and Christopher fell into place behind him.

Up ahead, Ashkr brought his horse to a sliding halt. He leapt from the saddle and ran the last few yards to where Embla was emerging from the depths of a tent. Anxiously, Ashkr grabbed his sister's shoulders and questioned her. She put her hand on his chest and her reply caused Ashkr to cry out in despair. He pushed his way past her, the tent-flap closing behind him with a snap. Embla stood looking after him for a moment, then she turned to watch as Razi, Wynter and Christopher made their way towards her. There was no welcome in her beautiful face, only strain, and a distressed sorrow that was on the edge of tears.

Wynter glanced around them as they made their way towards the waiting lady. The camp consisted of eight or nine of the Merron's famous conical tents, most of them lit from within, most with small cookfires out front. Wynter squinted to see into the gathering dusk beyond the fires. There were a score or more of horses, side hobbled and set loose to graze on the grassy plain that sloped down to the river. Behind the tents a series of washing lines fluttered in the breeze, and there were large piles of firewood dotted about. This was no hastily erected sick-stop; this was a well established, well selected, semi-permanent camp. Perhaps a base from which the Merron intended to operate.

Wynter began to suspect that the men and women who had been waiting in the trees at the Wherry Tavern had been an advance party, sent ahead to prepare for the arrival of their lords and lady. She saw Razi studying the environs, no doubt coming to similar conclusions. Christopher was slouched in his saddle, guiding his mount one-handed through the wary crowd. He only had eyes for Embla, and he seemed to be reading her face, judging her intent.

Embla cast a brief glance at Wynter and Christopher, then turned all her attention to Razi. He brought his horse to a stop and sat looking coldly down at her, waiting.

"Sol will not let you to treat him," Embla said softly. "It not matters what Ash says."

Razi eyed her without replying, grunted and slid from his saddle. Wynter saw him hide a stagger as he hit the ground, and for the first time it occurred to her how exhausted he must be. "Wyn-" he said, then cleared his throat. "Iseult," he amended, lifting his arms. "Come along." He took Wynter by the waist, and Embla frowned in concern as she saw the wince that Wynter couldn't hide. Her navy eyes darted between Wynter and Christopher, and she seemed genuinely shocked at their battered appearance.

Razi gazed up into Wynter's face. "Are you ready?" he whispered. She nodded, biting her lip, and Razi used all his strength to swing her from her horse. Pain exploded and everything threatened to fade out for a moment, but her senses returned almost immediately, and she was able to push from his grip and support her own weight before her weakness became too obvious. Razi turned to look questioningly at Christopher. The young man hesitated, then he set his jaw and slid from the saddle unaided. Razi placed a discreet hand on his back to steady him, and then turned to Embla.

"Step aside," he said. "I wish to hear for myself what Solmundr has to say."

Embla gestured to Christopher and Wynter. "They must stay out," she said.

Razi froze her with a look. "I think not," he said, and made his way around her and into the tent. Wynter and Christopher followed, ducking past Embla without meeting her eye, and passed into flickering torchlight.

The tent was hot and airless. It smelled of sweat and vomit and seemed crowded with people despite its roomy interior. Solmundr lay curled on a pallet of furs. His torso was bare, his covers pushed to his hips, and Wynter was appalled at the multitude of old lashmarks and scars that latticed his wiry body. Ashkr was hunched by his side, clutching his hand. He glared up at Ulfnaor, who was arguing with him in low and angry Merron. Behind the pallet crouched a sinewy, dark-eyed woman of about forty. She watched the two men with calm detachment, her hand on Solmundr's trembling back.

That must be Hallvor, thought Wynter, eyeing the copper fire-basin and the herb pouches and vials at the woman's side. The healer.

At their entrance, Ulfnaor threw them an aggravated glare and turned away. He stalked to the rear of the tent and stood in the shadows, his arms folded defensively across his chest. Hallvor looked them up and down with no discernible emotion.

Christopher and Wynter slunk around the edge of the tent, and stood side-by-side in the shadows. Razi paused by the door, gazing down on Solmundr, his face unreadable. Wynter could not believe the difference in the poor man since the last time she had seen him. His good-natured face was transformed with agony, and he was curled into a tight ball, his fist pressed against his stomach. He was panting, and seemed incapable of containing the small sounds of pain that escaped him with every breath. Ashkr gestured Razi to his side.

"Come!" he said. "Here, Tabiyb, come. Look at Sol."

Embla ducked into the tent and crossed to kneel beside Hallvor. She murmured a question, and the dark-haired woman shook her head hopelessly.

"Tabiyb!" cried Ashkr. "Come here!" He slammed his fist into the ground by Solmundr's bed, and his friend leapt in shock. Ashkr turned back to him immediately. "Gabh mo leithsceal, a chroi! Shhhhh!" He placed his hand tenderly on Solmundr's head. Then he snarled over his shoulder. "Frith an Domhain, Tabiyb. Come here! Fix Sol, or I will take sword to your head!"

Christopher pushed himself forward and Wynter saw his hand drop to his katar, just as she reached for her knife. She stepped from the shadows, her face hard. Ashkr should not have returned their weapons if he intended making threats.

Ashkr saw them advance and held up a placating hand. "I speak from fear," he rasped. "Fear make me stupid. I not hurt your friend." He tried to swallow down his distress, and patted the furs. "Tabiyb," he said. "You come help, yes? Come help, as good man you are."

Razi put out a hand and, without looking at them, pushed Wynter and Christopher back into the shadows. He glanced at Hallvor, then crossed to kneel by Solmundr's side. "Solmundr," he said. Solmundr opened his eyes with a gasp and focused on Razi's face. "Embla tells me that you do not want my assistance."

Solmundr looked up at Ashkr. "Ta m'uain tagtha, a Ash. Ta an Domhan do m'iarraidh... ta... ugh ..." he squeezed up in agony again.

Razi looked around for Christopher. "What did he say? Christopher! Get over here; tell me what this man is saying."

Christopher limped across to kneel stiffly at the foot of Solmundr's bed. "He says it is his time. That An Domhan, The World, our... my people's version of God, wants him." Christopher sighed and ran a shaking hand over his white face. "He wants to die, Razi. There's nothing you can do about that; it is Solmundr's right to choose."

Razi and Wynter both turned to gape at Christopher. He shrugged wearily at them. "They believe it is his right to choose," he explained softly.

Solmundr whispered something in Merron. He pulled Ashkr's clenched fist in against his chest, and for the first time Wynter noticed the slave mark branded into his upper arm. "I not need your help, Tabiyb," he rasped, slitting his eyes to look at Razi. "I ready. It good that An Domhan call me. Now... of all times."

Ashkr crouched over Solmundr, his hand moving lovingly through the poor man's sweat-soaked hair. He murmured with persuasive intensity and bent to gaze into Solmundr's eyes. Solmundr gazed back at him, his body trembling with pain, and Ashkr leant his forehead against his friend's temple and whispered something pleading and heartbroken.

Wynter looked at the men's fiercely interlocked hands. She took in the grinding depth of Ashkr's despair. She looked at the matching bracelets of plaited silver and copper that the men wore around their wrists, and with a spark of insight she touched the woollen bracelet on her own wrist. The nature of the men's love for each other leapt into focus. Oh, she thought, Oh, I see. She frowned uncertainly, utterly thrown for a moment by the kind of men Ashkr and Solmundr had turned out to be. But as Ashkr continued to whisper desperately to his friend, Wynter filled with sympathy for him and she found herself longing to take Christopher's hand.

"Chris?" she asked softly. "What is Ashkr saying?"

Christopher translated in a low murmur. "You promised me, remember? You made a promise. Won't you keep it for me? Now, of all times, could you leave me here to do this alone?"

Suddenly Solmundr's eyes opened impossibly wide and he cried out, hunching over as if trying to roll to his knees. Ashkr turned to Razi, silently pleading with him to intervene.

Razi leaned forward. "Solmundr!" he said. "Will you not allow me to look at you? I swear to you, I shall do nothing without your permission, but please, at least allow me to look at you!"

"Solmundr!" Christopher clutched at the man's foot through the furs. "If it is the will of An Domhan that you die, why would it have sent Tabiyb? Why would it have sent you a man who can do this?" he shoved his left sleeve up and thrust his arm forward, displaying his long scar. "It makes no sense, Sol," he cried. "It makes no sense! Think for just a moment and you will see it."

Hallvor looked at Christopher's arm and then at Razi, her dark eyes assessing. She leant forward and said something into Solmundr's ear, caressing his back with long soothing strokes. Solmundr hid his face in the crook of Ashkr's arm. Wynter was sure he would continue to refuse Razi's help, but then he groaned something in Merron and nodded. Hallvor, Ashkr and Christopher looked to Razi, their faces full of hope.

Immediately, Razi pushed the furs away from Solmundr's body. "Ashkr," he said. "Get behind him, pull him up slightly and lean him back against you. Hallvor!" He looked the woman in the eye, tapped the fist that Solmundr had clenched against his stomach and made a motion that Hallvor pull the man's arm to one side. She did this. Solmundr made a high, keening noise and tried to pull his knees up tight to his stomach. Razi glanced at Wynter. "Sis!" he said and she leapt forward to crouch by Christopher's side. "Help Christopher. Pull gently to straighten Solmundr's legs. Embla, push down on his knees. Gently... gently now! That's enough!"

It took Razi only moments to finish his examination. Then he nodded at everyone to release the poor man's arms and legs, and Solmundr curled back up, rolling to his side. Hallvor pulled the furs back up to Solmundr's waist, and Ashkr sat and stroked his damp hair, gazing at Razi as if he held the world in his hands.

Razi sat back on his heels and looked from face to expectant face. Wynter knew by his expression that the news was not good. She had very little Arabic, but she understood perfectly when Razi turned to Christopher with soft regret and murmured, "I cannot save this man."

Christopher tore his eyes from Solmundr's suffering. "This is what killed my father, Razi."

Wynter put her hand on his arm. "Oh Chris," she whispered.

Razi nodded miserably. "Aye," he said, "I suspect it is."

"You told me that you knew what caused this," said Christopher. "You said you had cut into the human body and seen the canker that makes this happen."

Razi's eyes widened in horror. "Aye, Chris, but in cadavers! Not in-"

"You told me you had witnessed St James treat a man with this. You said he opened his belly and pulled out the canker."

"Chris!" pleaded Razi. "I also told you that man died. Victor could not save him, the shock was too great, the infection-"

Christopher leant across and gripped Razi by the wrist. "You can try!" he insisted. "You can at least try."

Razi's covered his friend's hand with his own, clamping down hard. "Christopher," he whispered. "I will not have these people take vengeance on us for a death that will occur anyway. If this man dies under my knife-"

"Good Frith! We ain't bloody animals! They ain't going to kill you for an honest failure!" Christopher pulled his hand free and gestured to Solmundr. "Don't leave him like that, Razi. Don't let him go out like... don't let him go out like that."

Wynter rubbed her hand up and down Christopher's arm and turned sympathetic eyes to Razi. Unable to comprehend the Southlandast, the Merron were quiet, their eyes hopping from man to man as they tried to interpret the tone of their conversation.

"Chris," said Razi softly. "Look at me." He held his hands up. His fingers were trembling, his hands not just shaking, but weaving to and fro. "I will kill the poor fellow, Chris. I will kill him as sure as if I plunged my sword into his neck."

Christopher stared at Razi's unsteady hands, then back to Razi's soot-stained face. "I'll tell them that," he said. "I'll tell them that you need to get some sleep. You take a draught, go to bed, forget everything till tomorrow. If An Domhan spares Solmundr till then, you can save him when you wake up."

My God, thought Wynter, gazing at Razi. My God, what a burden.

Razi blinked. "You will explain to them what it is I will need? You must translate everything precisely. I cannot afford misunderstandings."

All the tension flowed from Christopher's body, and he squeezed Razi's shoulder. Then he turned back to the expectant Merron and began to translate Razi's instructions for the next day.

A few hours later, with everything settled for the morning, Wynter ducked outside and breathed deep to clear the sick tent air from her lungs. Shivering and drawing her cloak around her, she gazed up at the stars. To her surprise, she felt the first sharp promise of autumn in the night air. Where would this winter find them, she wondered.

Razi stumbled from the tent, knocking her shoulder as he followed Embla to their quarters. He was barely capable of putting one foot ahead of the other and didn't seem to notice Wynter standing there.

Christopher came up behind her and laid his hand on her back.

"Come on, lass," he said softly. "The lady has given up her tent to us." Wynter leant her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes. After the briefest of moments, Christopher kissed her hair, then broke away and the two of them trudged wearily after the others.

The Healing Cut.

"Nil se reidh."

Christopher? thought Wynter, rising to the surface of a black sleep.

Ashkr's voice came through the darkness, insisting something in desperate Merron. "Ta se beagnach ina mhaidin!"

Christopher hissed some reply, his voice fierce and brittle. Wynter blinked away her tiredness and rolled to her side, peering through the tent flap to see the two men outlined against the flames of a huge fire. Christopher appeared to be wrapped in a cloak, or a fur, his shape obscured by its bulk. He stepped close to Ashkr and snarled up at the tall man, his pose belligerent.

Whatever he said, Ashkr made a compulsive move towards him, his fist clenched and Christopher lifted his chin in defiance. Ashkr groaned and abruptly swung away, stalking off into the dark, his pale hair swinging behind him.

Wynter sighed with relief and rolled onto her back. She still felt utterly drained, despite her deep sleep. "Jesu," she whispered and pressed her fingers into her eyes. Sighing again, she stretched her limbs and revelled in the soft fur that swaddled her naked body. Her bed consisted of a base of fragrant pine boughs covered with hides and blanketed in fur. Wynter thought it the most comfortable and sweet-smelling nest she had ever slept in.