LE GAROU

THE GUARDS around Alberon’s tent eyed Razi and Wynter as they approached. Oliver was standing in the shadow of the awning, and he came quickly forward, striding down the slope to head Razi off before he got anywhere near the wary soldiers.

Wynter expected Razi to shove his way past, but instead he halted, regarding the knight from under his brows.

‘Do not do this, my Lord,’ warned Oliver quietly, ‘please.’

Razi spoke just as quietly, his voice inaudible to the watching men. ‘Either let me past, or kill me, Oliver. Which will it be?’

Oliver regarded him closely, and Razi held his gaze. ‘I shall get access, or die trying, Sir Knight. I ask you again, which will it be?’

Oliver’s eyes fell to Wynter.

‘I shall accompany the Lord Razi.’

Oliver briefly squeezed his eyes shut; then he gestured the soldiers to give the lord and lady access. Wynter and Razi strode into the shade of the awning and straight through the door. Oliver stood for a moment in the sunshine, as if too weary to move, then he followed them in.

The map-table and its four chairs had been brought inside. Alberon sat on one side of it, David Le Garou on the other. David’s Seconds lined the wall behind him, loose-limbed and ready, watching their leader’s back. At Razi’s entrance, they straightened as one, their slanting eyes filled with amused delight.

David Le Garou rose smoothly to his feet, all his teeth showing in a grin. His eyes dropped to Wynter, then back to Razi. ‘Al-Sayyid,’ he murmured. ‘What a pleasant surprise. I had heard that you were dead.’

‘Why are you here?’ asked Razi.

David lifted his eyebrows and he turned to Alberon in feigned shock, as if expecting the Prince to reprimand his brother for his rudeness. There was a moment of heavy silence. Alberon drummed his fingers on the table. Once. A gesture of contained anger.

‘I take it that you know each other,’ he said tightly.

Le Garou shrugged and spread his hands. ‘We have met, in passing. Now and again.’

‘You have done your best these past five years to destabilise my relations within the Moroccan court,’ said Razi. ‘You have done everything you can to use me to drive a wedge between the Sultan and my father. I ask again, why are you here?’

‘The dealings at court were not my idea,’ tutted David. ‘That was my father, the great André Le Garou. It is he who tries to distance the Sultan from his old allies. I have no personal opinion on who rules the Moroccos. But we all must support our fathers, must we not? In word and in deed. One must do one’s father’s bidding... Still,’ the Wolf smiled slyly, ‘if my father has been a trouble to you you have never seemed too discomfited, al-Sayyid. If he has offended you in speech or act, you have yet to let it show.’

‘Your father thought I would cry havoc, did he not?’ said Razi. ‘He thought that my pride would drive me to act rashly. He hoped I would run riot with some bloody-handed vendetta and so damage my standing as a diplomat. No doubt he thought a half-breed boy-prince would never have had the self-control to let such an act go.’

Le Garou shrugged. ‘If so, you proved him wrong. How proud that must make you feel.’

Alberon looked warily from Le Garou to Razi, not understanding. ‘What did you do?’ he asked the Wolf.

Le Garou smiled again. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘al-Sayyid thinks we damaged his property... some trifling act of vandalism for which he blames us. It is not unusual. The Loups-Garous tend to get blamed for such things. It’s just the way the world is.’

Wynter realised with a sudden jolt of horror that he was speaking of Christopher and of what had been done to him. It was abruptly, shockingly clear that Christopher’s terrible mutilation, the theft of all that he was, had been done for no other reason than to get at Razi. It had been nothing more than a vicious jab at al-Sayyid. Christopher had been taken and broken like a stolen toy, all as a petty attempt to goad Razi into vengeance and ruin his reputation in the Sultan’s court.

She stared at David Le Garou’s slyly smiling face and understood at last the depths of Razi’s restraint and of Christopher’s patience. For nearly four years, her friends had suppressed their rage and their grief, all for the sake of this kingdom. Wynter wondered how often in those years Razi had told Christopher soon, soon, and how often he had needed to go back on his word.

The hounds outside the tent raised their voices once more, and Wynter struggled to quell the hatred that rose within her and the rage that threatened to cloud her vision.

‘ Jesu, Razi,’ sighed Alberon wearily. ‘Whatever these men did, I shall be certain they make reparation for it, but now is not the time to settle old scores. Horse theft and broken trinkets will need to be put aside for the time being. We have bigger things to hand.’

‘Yes, al-Sayyid,’ said Le Garou, smirking at Razi. ‘Please do not fret. Though the Wolves have naught to do with your loss, I am certain we should have no trouble replacing your damaged goods. After all, though rare here, such things are ten a penny where we come from. I believe I may even have some with me, if I look in my baggage.’

The Wolf called Jean snickered, and Alberon and Oliver looked sharply at him. Wynter saw a cold resolve harden in Alberon’s face, and it served to settle her nauseating rage. She knew that Alberon could not possibly have grasped the context of the Wolves’ vile needling, but the look on the Prince’s face told her that he would not tolerate their sly amusement at his brother’s expense. Whatever Alberon’s original thoughts towards Razi’s inclusion in these talks, Wynter was certain the Wolves had just won their rival a place at the Prince’s table.

Sure enough, Alberon patted the chair on his left. ‘Brother,’ he said, ‘come now, and take your place by me. As ever, I should benefit from your contribution to my affairs. Your insights are always so acute.’

Le Garou lost his smile, and Razi rounded the table to sit at the Prince’s left hand. He was darkly contained, his movements smooth and unhurried. When he had taken his seat, he folded his hands on the table and gazed blandly at Le Garou as if waiting for him to read from a menu, or serve up some tea. His calmness astounded Wynter; it reminded her exactly what Razi was capable of.

Oliver moved to stand at Alberon’s back, his hands resting on the handle of his sword, consciously mirroring Le Garou’s three watchful guards.

‘Protector Lady,’ said Alberon, ‘you will attend?’

Wynter nodded stiffly, grateful that he had chosen to recognise her and not, as would have been his right, ignored her and shamed her into leaving of her own accord. She did not commit the horrible presumption of sitting at the treaty table, nor did she set herself up as Oliver’s equal in guarding the Prince, but she crossed instead to take a seat on the relative obscurity of Alberon’s cot.

The row of Seconds followed her movement with bemused interest. Even before crossing the tent, she had succeeded in forcing down her rage. By the time she took her seat, she felt almost nothing – so deeply had she buried her feelings. Her face cold, her hands steady, she settled herself on Alberon’s cot, then stared at the leering Wolves until they looked away. Their expressions gave no doubt that they presumed her to be Razi’s woman, and the idea of it entertained them no end.

‘Pretty,’ murmured Gérard.

‘But small,’ added Pierre, ‘scarcely more than a mouthful.’

Wynter glanced at Razi and Alberon, expecting them to rage, but either they had not heard or they refused to be needled by it. Pierre smirked to himself and licked his lips.

Were you at the tavern? thought Wynter suddenly. Was it you? She knew it was not. These higher-ranking Wolves had not been involved in those terrible deeds at the Wherry Tavern. Still, looking at their faces, Wynter could not help but recall the feel of teeth and fur against her cheek, the clench of iron-strong arms around her body, the hot blast of a chuckle in her ear. Christopher had sacrificed himself to save her from them, but the landlord’s daughters had not been so lucky. The face of the eldest girl was a clear memory, bruised and swollen and white with shock the next day, her little sister’s broken body laid out before them on the kitchen table. Wynter closed her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her face betrayed nothing, but there was a sudden acid pain in her belly, and she wondered if it was all her hidden anger and fear, finally burning itself into the pit of her stomach.

There was a small movement beside her and she slid her eyes left. Coriolanus cowered in his little nest, his beautiful eyes huge. Wynter thought she had never seen a cat so close to tears. Forcing her fingers to release her weapon, Wynter reached and discreetly stroked his trembling back. It seemed to comfort Cori a little, but it also centred Wynter and let her think.

David Le Garou pushed back the embroidered tails of his moss-green coat and resumed his seat. ‘Your Highness—’ he began.

‘You have brought slaves to this camp,’ interrupted Razi.

‘Oh, are we to speak of slaves?’ asked Le Garou, raising his eyebrows in fascination and folding his gloved hands on the tabletop.

‘They are forbid here.’

Le Garou sighed patiently. ‘I remind you, slaves are only forbid to those residing in your father’s kingdom, al-Sayyid. Travellers are allowed their property.’

‘Only if travelling the port road, and only after paying the appropriate taxes. We are far from the port road here, David, and I have yet to hear of Wolves paying taxes.’

‘I have dispensation.’ Le Garou looked pointedly to Alberon.

‘I did not sanction the conveyance of human chattels,’ corrected Alberon.

Le Garou sat back, spreading his hands in mock defeat. ‘Then I shall set them loose,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they’ll be fortunate enough to find work somewhere – or perhaps they can throw themselves on your charity, al-Sayyid? Your generosity being what it is.’

Razi lowered his chin, his lip curled back to reply, but Alberon silenced them both with a raised hand.

‘Enough!’ he said sharply. ‘We have business to discuss, and I shall not be distracted from it! Monsieur Le Garou, when you are resident here I shall not tolerate the retention of slaves. Those whom you and your men cannot gainfully employ, you must free with ample purse to set them up in a trade. You understand?’

Le Garou shrugged. Wynter and Razi gaped at Alberon. When you are resident here? Could he be serious?

Alberon turned to Razi. ‘Lord Razi,’ he said firmly, ‘we shall stick to the subject that Le Garou and I have brought to this table. Your own agendas will fall aside.’

Alberon turned back to Le Garou and went to speak, but almost immediately his lieutenant made himself known at the door, and the Prince hung his head in exasperation while Oliver went to take a message.

While waiting, David Le Garou smiled across the table at Razi, who still stared at Alberon in disbelief. ‘Those dogs sound a mite savage, my Lord,’ said the Wolf, tilting his head to the distant baying of the Merron hounds. ‘I hope they are well fettered.’

Razi turned his head as if on rusty hinges, and Alberon looked at Le Garou from under his brows, irritated at the obvious resumption of verbal hostilities.

Le Garou just kept smiling at Razi. ‘Of course, there’s naught more dangerous than an unchained cur,’ he murmured. ‘One would hope the owner of such an animal would be wise enough to keep him tethered.’

At his back, the row of Wolves grinned, and Razi regarded them with hatred.

Oliver came and whispered in Alberon’s ear. The Prince’s young face brightened into a wicked smile. ‘Oh, I have no doubt they do,’ he said. He glanced at Le Garou as if sharing a great jest. ‘The Haun have requested access to my presence.’

David Le Garou chuckled. ‘Of course they have.’

‘Tell them no,’ said Alberon, and Oliver nodded and went to convey the message to the lieutenant.

‘My arrival has thrown them,’ smiled Le Garou. ‘Poor things. They do rely so on my father’s collusion in the Sultan’s demise. They can only be alarmed at my unexpected communion with you.’ He sighed and ran his gloved hands across the tabletop, his eyes on Alberon. ‘Now,’ he murmured, ‘tell me my reward.’

‘The Lord Gascon De Bourg,’ said Alberon. ‘You recall him, Lord Razi? A foolish man. So foolish, indeed, that he sided with my father’s enemies during the insurrection.’

‘This proved bad for his health?’ asked the Wolf.

‘Extremely.’

‘And his heirs? Can I presume that their father’s foolishness prove bad for their health?’

‘It proved fatal.’

‘As it should. No house should take arms against a king and live to think the better of it. Tell me, your Highness, this dead traitor to your father... he left a sizeable estate?’

‘Large, rich, well established. It has vineyards, lake and pasture. Marvellous stock and well managed tenantry. The King has planned to divide it between four of his supporters, and a fine living they all would have made of it too... I shall ensure it is given to you instead, Monsieur Le Garou, in its entirety. You and your men will be set for life.’

Le Garou sighed again and closed his eyes. He rolled his head as if some unseen hand were kneading the tension from his shoulders. ‘An estate,’ he breathed. ‘At last.’

Wynter shook her head. She watched Alberon closely. This must be some kind of trick. He was planning to fool the Wolves somehow; there could be no other explanation.

Alberon’s eyes went hard. ‘Now, Monsieur,’ he asked flatly, ‘what do you offer me?’

Le Garou’s face darkened with bitter satisfaction. ‘My father has denied me my due too long,’ he whispered. ‘He grins at me and calls me his best, but keeps me to heel like a common whelp while lesser sons get their title and are released. I grow weary of an old dog’s suspicion. His lack of faith has made of me that which he feared all along.’ He tilted his head, his smile cold. ‘I will split the packs for you, Prince. I will draw my father’s allies from him with the promise that they will join me in my new life. The ones who are left in his command will smell his weakness and tear him apart in their efforts to gain control.’ He jerked his head towards the camp. ‘Those Haun await confirmation that my father and his Corsair allies are ready to forge an alliance to topple the Sultan. They will be sore disappointed when I break the news of my father’s change of heart.’

‘A change of heart which exists only in your imagination,’ murmured Alberon.

Le Garou grinned wide and Wynter clearly saw the Wolf behind the man. ‘I am my father’s voice and claw, Prince. Why would they doubt me? The Haun are weak already. Spread thin by time and distance, this is a blow their leaders will not recover from. When they realise that the Loups-Garous are no longer on their side, their scheme for an invasion of the West will be destroyed. They too will rip themselves apart with recrimination and struggle. The Western Haun will be weakened beyond repair.’

Razi huffed. ‘What use are Wolves and Corsairs to the Haun?’ he murmured. ‘Why would they seek the support of ragtag pirates and rabid ungovernable scum like you?’

Le Garou glanced darkly at him from the corner of his eye. If looks could poison, Wynter was certain Razi would have dropped to the floor and writhed to his death in the dirt.

‘The Haun would have much to be grateful for if the Corsairs and the Wolves pull the Sultan from his throne,’ snarled Le Garou. ‘When he is no longer in charge, this kingdom will no longer have an ally in the Moroccan court and the Haun need have no fear of reprisals when they ride in here and rape your land. They would be so very, very grateful to my father for this, al-Sayyid. So grateful. They have already offered to give what is left of this kingdom to those who helped them gain power. And my father and his allies will merrily divide it among themselves. The Corsairs will receive the Southland ports and free rein over those damned shipping lanes of your father’s. The Loups-Garous will gain dominion over the port road. And the Haun?’ The Wolf grinned, too wide a grin, with too many teeth, and his eyes darkened until there was no colour left in them at all. ‘The Haun will simply let loose on the Europes, for sport, to see what they can get.’

Wynter’s hand tightened on Coriolanus’s back, and the cat shuddered and mewed softly in fear.

‘But I can halt all that,’ said Le Garou. ‘With one or two words from me, it all falls down; the Moroccan throne will be safe, the Southlands will remain secure. All I ask in return is a home of my own.’

‘Lies,’ said Razi.

Le Garou slid his dark gaze to him again, and Alberon turned to regard his brother with open interest.

‘The Corsairs have lost all their supporters,’ said Razi. ‘Thanks to the Sultan’s reforms, even their old Slawi allies have turned against them. They are adrift at sea – portless, friendless outlaws, desperate for a haven. And the Wolves? You are as you always were: a loose alliance of disparate packs, some strong, some weak, too rabid ever to come together long enough to act as one.’

Alberon frowned at Le Garou and Wynter could see that he was listening, really listening to Razi’s words. Hope rose in her chest as she saw the Prince regard the Wolf with new eyes.

Razi went calmly on. ‘The Sultan’s enemies have no strength, David, and you know it. Your father and his allies are naught but noisy, squabbling bandits and rabbletrash. They have no hope of uniting a force strong enough to topple the Moroccan throne. You have come here with nothing but empty words, and have hoped to build an empire upon them. You will not succeed.’

‘Do you really expect the Prince to listen to you?’ growled Le Garou. ‘You, who has set your arse on a velvet cushion this last five years while your little brother has hacked his way through your father’s enemies?’

‘No,’ warned Alberon, pointing a finger at the Wolf. ‘That is enough.’

‘ You? ’ continued Le Garou, snarling at Razi despite Alberon’s obvious disapproval. ‘How dare you accuse me of empty words, when all you ever have is words? You gelded calf!’ he cried, slapping the table. ‘You ball-less bint! Do not force me to test you, al-Sayyid. I would tear your throat with a look!’

Alberon surged to his feet, and David sat back, suddenly aware that he had gone too far. Wynter was utterly certain, then, that Razi had won. Alberon’s rage convinced her so. Then Razi made his terrible mistake, and two angry sentences brought the Prince’s wrath swinging back around to fall on his brother: ‘You will not use my brother’s foolishness as a tool to further your own ends,’ said Razi to the Wolf. ‘I will not let you.’

As soon as he had uttered them, Wynter could see that Razi wished the words unsaid. His eyes widened, and he all but slapped his hand across his mouth. But the damage was done. Alberon’s rage turned cold. Le Garou’s uncertainty became a grin, and the battle was lost.

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