They took Wynter's sword and her dagger and brought her to Embla's tent. Razi was already inside, and he surged to his feet as she ducked in the doorway, his fists up, ready to fight.

"It's me!" she hissed, holding her hands out.

He strode forward and grabbed her shoulders, looking behind her. "Where is Christopher?"

Angrily, she shrugged free of his grip. "They took him! He would not see me! He would only see Ashkr and Solmundr, and they took him!"

Razi covered his face with his hand and groaned. He spun away and stalked to the opposite end of the puballmor where he stood in the shadows, his head in his hands.

"You should have told me!" she hissed, and Razi shook his head. "How dare you not tell me?"

The tent flap was lifted and a tall, dark shape filled the door. Razi leapt forward, grabbing Wynter and pulling her back. Then the door fell back into place and they saw that it was Ashkr, grave and staring, his eyes moving between the two of them.

"Tabiyb," he said. "Coinin say you always know this about him, but you never will to talk."

Colour flared to Razi's cheeks and he averted his eyes.

Ashkr looked him up and down. "So Coinin tell truth," he said softly. "You shamed of him."

"No," cried Razi. No, of course not ..."

"Yes," insisted Ashkr. "Yes! You shamed, Tabiyb You hide Coinin's nature. You make him hide even from his croi-eile."

"No," cried Razi desperately. That was Christopher's choice. He has always suppressed this part of himself! He has never wanted-"

Ashkr stepped forward, his face close to Razi's. "Come now, then," he demanded. You come talk. You let Coinin know he good."

Razi's arms dropped to his sides, and Wynter saw guilt and helplessness rise up in his dark face. He spread his hands and whispered, "I do not know what to say. I... I have never known what to say."

Ashkr softened instantly. He put his hand on Razi's neck. "You just be his friend, Tabiyb. That all Coinin need from you, to know you his friend." He smiled and pushed Razi's hair back from his face in a strangely paternal gesture. "It be good," he said, then he turned to Wynter. "Iseult," he said. "I will talk with you."

Razi gripped Ashkr's arm, panicked. "No!" he said. "Christopher would not want us to-"

Ashkr gently removed Razi's hand from his arm. He turned again to Wynter and she glared at him, her anger at Christopher and at Razi suffusing everything. Unfazed, Ashkr held up his wrist and tapped the plaited copper and silver bangle he wore there. "You know what this mean?"

"It is a token of fidelity," she answered tightly. "It means you have pledged yourself, heart and body, to Solmundr."

He nodded. "From time I know what it is to love, I know I love Sol, and he, too, always feel this way for me. For long time I try to pretend I not feel this-because of who I is and what I is... Caora Beo. But, true in my heart, Iseult, Sol the only person I ever feel this way for. He make me happy. I like think I make him happy too. So ..." Ashkr trailed to silence and closed his fingers around his bracelet.

Suddenly his face drew down, and Wynter knew he was remembering something terrible. Something that brought him great anger and pain. Against her wishes, she felt her anger subside.

"Then those pirate come," whispered Ashkr, "and my Sol, he is gone. I eighteen when this happen, and I understand with perfect clearness that I have lost only good thing in my thoin caca of life. Three long year he gone, and my heart it bleed every day... then here he is! I not believe it! My Sol! Walking from out the trees! It like dream. I look at the scars on his body. I see his poor neck and-"

Ashkr gritted his teeth and bit down on his emotions. He took Wynter's hands in his own, looking down at the tokens they both wore on their wrists. "This what I need tell you," he said. "I sorry I go on and on. This really what I need you to know ..." He seemed uncertain suddenly, as if not sure he should be saying this. Wynter squeezed his hands. She nodded encouragingly.

Ashkr's voice lowered. "Sol, he go through many thing when he slave," he said darkly. "He suffer many hurts. He... he made feel shame, Iseult. You understand?"

Wynter swallowed, her eyes full. She nodded.

"Sol, he think that if he tells to me this things, then that be all I will ever see. He think I will look at him and not see him no more, but only what it is was done to him. He think it better to keep all this things inside him. Not said." Ashkr leaned in close to Wynter, willing her to understand. "Shame make Sol not speak. This thing that keep him silent to me. This thing that keep Coinin silent to you. It shame. They fear the truth will make us turn away, Iseult. This why they hide from us this very important things. You understand?"

Wynter nodded again, and Ashkr searched her glittering eyes.

"Good," he whispered. "That good. Now!" He abruptly dropped her hands and turned to Razi. "Now, Tabiyb. Come tend this wounds on Coinin's back. Give to him reason to tell you what he feels."

Razi remained pressed against the wall, his face frozen, and Ashkr dipped his chin. "It all right, Tabiyb," he said gently. "Be strong now, like good man you are, and go be friend to Coinin."

For a very brief moment Wynter thought Razi was going to refuse. Then he lurched for the back of the tent, plucked his doctor's bag from the shadows and ducked through the door. She went to dash after him, but Ashkr stopped her.

"Your chance come next, lucha. We take our time getting there, ta go maith?"

Wynter nodded. "All right," she said.

The sound of Christopher weeping brought her to an uncertain halt by Ashkr's tent. It was a muffled, keening sound, underlaid with the deep murmur of Razi's voice. Wynter rested her hand on the wall of the tent and listened.

"But I can feel it!" said Christopher, his voice rising in panic. "I've let it out, Razi. After all these years-after everything that's happened me-now I let it out! And I can't control it! Any bit of anger at all! Any bit of desire, and it leaps up in me! I'm bad, Razi! I'm dangerous!"

Wynter bowed her head. She glanced back at Ashkr and Solmundr, sitting in the shade of the trees, watching her tensely. Solmundr gestured her to go inside.

Razi mumbled something, and Christopher interrupted him sharply. "You know I will! You've seen what I'm like!"

"Christopher," said Razi, his tone very clear and measured, "that was years ago, and you were out of your mind. You were crazed with fever."

"I could have killed you! You could have died." Christopher broke into sobs again, and Wynter could take no more. She stumbled her way around the side of the tent and pushed through the door.

The two men jumped at her abrupt entrance, and Christopher wailed in horror.

"No!" he cried. "No! Iseult! No!"

The sight of him almost drove Wynter from the tent in fear. His swollen, blotchy face, his frantic desperation. He is a Wolf, she thought. A Wolf. At her expression, Christopher hid his face, and Wynter cringed with shame. Oh, you fool, she thought, he is Christopher. That is all. That is everything. Clenching her hands against her own cowardice, Wynter stepped in and let the door drop behind her.

Razi had been kneeling by Ashkr's bed, holding Christopher in his arms, but at her approach Christopher snatched himself away and retreated to the middle of the pallet, his head in his hands, his knees drawn up. He was barefoot and bare-chested, dressed only in his trousers, and Wynter figured that he had finally allowed Razi tend to the cuts on his back.

"Christopher," she said softly. He moaned and shook his head. Wynter moved closer to the bed. At her approach, Christopher pressed his face harder into his knees.

Razi shifted uncomfortably. "Sis," he whispered, his face pleading. Don't. Please. Don't say anything.

Wynter hesitated. Then she stooped and, without thinking, removed her boots. She took off her tunic. Then she crawled across the furs of Ashkr's bed and knelt beside Christopher. She put her hand on his back. Razi took a shaky breath, staring at her. She leant close and whispered in Christopher's ear.

"Those Wolves. They would have hurt me."

Christopher dragged a sob through his nose, his face hidden. "Nuh ..." he said. "Sh... shhhhhh."

"You would not let them," she said softly. "They would have hurt me, and you would not let them." She put her arms around him and, without hesitation, he turned into her embrace. "I will always remember that," she whispered, holding him tight. "I will always, always remember that, Christopher. That you saved me from them." She felt his arms creep around her waist and his fists knot in the fabric of her undershirt.

"You are not like them," she whispered.

For a brief moment Christopher wept with frightening intensity, his entire body shuddering, his face pressed hard against Wynter's shoulder, then he clenched his arms around her and held his breath until he was able to stop. She felt him swallow hard. He drew a deep breath and released it. Wynter put her hand on the back of his head, clutching the fine wool scarf that still bound his hair in place.

"I will not let you go," she whispered, her lips pressed to his ear. Christopher pulled her closer, turning his forehead to rest against her neck. "Will you promise me the same, Christopher? Will you promise? Not to let me go?" After a moment she felt him nod, and she closed her eyes in relief and rested her cheek against his hair.

Razi got quietly to his feet. She glanced up at him and he held a finger to his lips. "I will just go see that Solmundr is all right," he said. "He should not be out of bed."

Wynter nodded, smiling. Then the sudden alarm in her face stopped Razi cold, and he dropped back down by her side. "What?" he said.

Christopher had become a dead weight in her arms. As she stared at Razi, Christopher's fists abruptly relaxed their grip on her shirt and slithered down her back. He was completely unconscious. Razi frowned and dug his fingers into his friend's neck, checking for a pulse. Then he relaxed, his eyes closing in relief. "He's asleep, darling, that's all. Here, let me... that's it." Between the two of them, they laid Christopher back onto the furs of Ashkr's bed. He opened his eyes briefly, gazed at them, then curled onto his side, tucked his hand under his cheek and fell back asleep.

Razi looked at him for a moment, his face carefully schooled.

"It's about time," said Wynter.

"I... I should go and check on Solmundr."

Despite his contained expression, Razi's voice was horribly shaky, and Wynter reached over before he could pull away and dragged him into a fierce hug. Just for a moment he submitted, his chin dropping briefly to her shoulder, his arms closing around her. Then he pushed away. "I won't be long," he said.

Half an hour or so later, Wynter saw Razi's long shadow as he came around the tent. She was lying by Christopher's side, holding his hand and listening to the peaceful sound of his breathing. He had not stirred since Razi's departure, his mind finally allowing his body to succumb to the exhaustion of the last few days. Wynter had no doubt that Solmundr would allow him the use of his bed for as long as he needed, and did not stir as Razi's shadow dipped to pull back the flap.

"He's still asleep," she began, but it was not Razi at all, it was Ashkr, and the look on his face stole Wynter's smile. She sat up, her hand moving protectively to Christopher's shoulder. "He's sleeping, Ashkr," she said.

Ashkr had their hats in his hand, and he came across and handed them to her. "It grow hot outside," he said. Wynter took them grimly, knowing that Christopher would get no more rest.

"Where is Razi?" she asked.

Ignoring her, Ashkr hunkered down by the bed and shook Christopher.

"Coinin," he whispered, "wake up."

Christopher snapped awake with a snort. "Cad e?' he rasped. He ran his hand down his face and licked his lips.

Ashkr reached behind him and uncorked a waterskin, offering it silently. Christopher rolled to his elbow to quench his thirst, and as he drank, Wynter saw the memory of where he was and what had happened seep into his pale face. He lowered the waterskin and stared at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to repeat his previous rejection of her, then he smiled uncertainly. There was a hesitant silence, neither of them knowing where to start.

"Are you all right?" she whispered finally.

He nodded.

"And ..." she looked down at the token on her wrist, afraid to ask. "Are we...? Christopher, are we still all right?"

He stared at her, his eyes wide. Wynter thought he seemed frighteningly unsure of himself. Then he nodded again. She tilted her chin. "Then what is my name, Freeman?" she demanded. "You seem to have been forgetting it recently."

Christopher's lips twitched, his grey eyes glittering even as they creased up into his old amusement. "Your name," he said, taking her hand, "is Iseult Ni Moorhawke Ui Garron, and you are my croi-eile."

They smiled shakily at each other, and Wynter ran her thumb along the twist of wool at his wrist. "Good," she said softly. "Good." Then she clamped down hard on his hand, purposely squashing his fingers so that he yelped. "Don't you forget it," she said.

"Ow!" Christopher wriggled his fingers. "A bloody shrew," he groaned. "I've shackled myself to a bloody shrew! My life is ruined." He glanced at Ashkr and the laughter died in his face. "Ash," he said.

The two men regarded each other, their expressions heavy with an unspoken understanding. Ashkr seemed to hesitate, then he straightened his back and cleared his throat. "I want to call for Council," he said.

Christopher's eyes widened. "Council... why?"

Ashkr looked away. "What it is you tell me yesterday... about there being no place here?" The blond Lord glanced fleetingly at him. "I wish you to press this case. I want to hear proper. I want others to hear proper. So we can make choice."

Wynter saw excitement grow in Christopher's tired face. "Will they grant Council?" he said. "I can't imagine... it's very late, Ashkr, I can't imagine they would agree."

"Yes," agreed Ashkr. "It very late. Already our business here delayed by Sol be sick." He looked up at the walls of the tent, his eyes tracing the bear and the lamb. "But, Ulfnaor, I think he will agree. He falter, I think, in his duty, and he welcome delay. Sol too, if it not take too long and make us suffer in the wait. But my sister... " He trailed off, his face darkening. "Embla, she maybe not want to listen. She tired, I think, of wait." He looked at Christopher's pale and worn face. "But still, Coinin, if it happen. If I make it that they agree... will you to speak? What you say to me before? Will you make case?"

Christopher stared at Ashkr. "Aye," he said. "I will."

"Chris?" asked Wynter cautiously.

"You let me handle this now, lass," he said, speaking in quiet Southlandast. "You just make sure that Razi don't give any promises, all right?" Before Wynter could reply, Christopher turned to Ashkr and said, "Come on, my Lord. Let us go press for Council."

Council.

On arriving back at the plains, Wynter was gently taken by the arm and escorted to Razi's side. Though the Merron had returned Christopher's weapons, they left Razi and Wynter unarmed and the two of them were placed sitting on a log in the shade, thoroughly excluded from the activity. Two warriors hunkered in the dust a few feet away, guarding them and silently following the proceedings from afar.

There was an air of tense dissatisfaction amongst the milling ranks of warriors, and they huddled around Ashkr as he furiously pressed his case. There were raised voices and sharp gestures. Everyone seemed to have an opinion and everyone seemed determined to be heard. Now and again, one or another of the Merron would glance across at Wynter and Razi, their looks filled with confusion, pity or just plain animosity. Embla and Ulfnaor were silent, their faces tight. Solmundr sat hunched against a tree, listening gravely to the babble.

Razi, taut as a bowstring, switched his attention from Christopher to Embla, to Ulfnaor and back. Wynter kept her eyes on Christopher. He was standing by Ashkr's side, listening quietly as the Merron Lord argued with his people.

Neither Wynter nor Razi bothered with conversation. Everything that might happen now was out of their control, their future depending on the decisions of others.

Abruptly, Ulfnaor clapped his hands and yelled a firm command. All the urgent chatter came to a halt and the Merron grudgingly moved into a rough semicircle and hunkered in the dust. Christopher joined them. Ashkr, Wari and Ulfnaor went to stand by Solmundr. Embla dithered for a moment, her face grim, then she flung her hands up in surrender and took her place by her brother. Solmundr's position against the tree had become the equivalent of the royal table at a banquet, and the row of Merron lords stood flanking their seated friend, their arms folded.

It was full light now, and a clear blue sky burned above the trees. Wynter squinted across the growing heat shimmer, watching as the Merron got settled. It was difficult to believe that only three hours earlier they had taken to their horses, planning to ride out of camp.

Ulfnaor stepped forward and looked around, his face expectant. One of the warriors raised her hand and, at Ulfnaor's nod, stood to say her piece. Everyone listened in polite silence as she gave a short, earnest little speech. With a jolt, Wynter realised that this was the Council. Ashkr had got his wish and, without fuss or circumstance, the debate was already underway.

Razi spoke quietly by her side, his eyes on the lords. "Do you know anything about these meetings, Wyn? Are they anything like Father's council?"

Wynter ran her eyes around the circle of crouching men and women, and couldn't help but smile at the thought of Jonathon's po-faced councilmen squatting in the dust. She lost the smile quickly; Jonathon's councilmen might be a bunch of brittle old twigs, but with one stroke of a pen they could destroy this whole camp. They could destroy this whole nation.

Sadly, Wynter surveyed the ring of grimly attentive warriors and their casually imposing row of lords. They haven't a hope, she thought. They will never fit in here. It would be madness for Jonathon even to let them try. These were a people rapidly running out of time, a nation lost to time.

She glowered and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in an unconscious mirror of Razi's pose. She hadn't bothered to answer Razi's question and he didn't seem to mind. He just sat frowning across at the Council, anxiously rubbing his fingers against his palms in that old, unconscious gesture. After a while, his agitated fretting grated on Wynter's nerves and she reached across and clamped down on his hand.

"Stop it," she hissed. He stiffened and sat upright, his hands clenching, and she was instantly sorry. She patted his arm. "Sorry," she whispered.

"I will not bring you back out there alone," he said tightly. "I cannot. I cannot. I won't. If Christopher is about to try and persuade them ..." He shook his head.

Wynter looked at him, his rigid posture, his determined face. "Razi," she said, "Christopher is convinced that if you stay, these people will see you dead. He seems to think that you will object violently to their practices. He is ..." She hesitated to comment on Razi's relationship with Embla. "He is worried that you will force them to do you harm."

"He underestimates me," said Razi, "if he thinks I cannot extend my tolerance to some dubious pagan rituals. He, of all people, should know that I have been forced to tolerate far worse in my time."