The Crowded Shadows by Kiernan Celine

Author:Kiernan, Celine [Kiernan, Celine]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: FIC009020
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2010-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

Frith

They made their way up the steep little path, silent and numb, bumping into each other as fatigue made them miss their footing. Wynter’s back ached and Christopher limped clumsily along, carrying the copper bowl and towels, his eyes drifting shut even as he walked.

At the top of the path, they staggered blindly onto the grass, heading for the tents. Suddenly, two huge warhounds butted into their space, slobbering and grinning, panting up into their startled faces.

“Gread leat,” snapped Christopher, jerking to life and pulling Wynter back. “Leave her be!” He pushed testily at the dog’s blunt heads. They happily ignored him, eager to explore the depths of the porridge bowls. One of them butted Wynter in the stomach. She staggered backwards, upsetting the tray, and that was it for Christopher—he lost his temper.

“Croch leat!” he snarled, recklessly punching the dog’s huge head with his fist. “Croch leat, a bhoid clamhach.”

The dogs growled, and to Wynter’s alarm, Christopher lashed out at them with the copper bowl. Any fool could have sensed the huge creatures’ rising antagonism, but Christopher seemed to have lost all common sense, and he raised the bowl again, yelling.

“Christopher,” she warned, eyeing the flashing teeth and stiffly raised hackles. “Stop it!”

Christopher pushed her roughly behind him. “Úlfnaor!” he shouted, glaring up towards the camp. “Curb your damned hounds!” It was only then that Wynter noticed the big man walking towards them, his black hair lifting in the breeze, his bracelets flashing as he strode across the grass. “Curb your hounds, Aoire!” demanded Christopher in Hadrish. “They are trying my patience!”

Úlfnaor seemed to take no offence at Christopher’s tone, his face and posture those of a man with other things on his mind. He whistled as he strode towards them and his hounds broke away immediately, galloping towards him with loose limbed, slavering worship, and falling into place at his heel.

“Coinín,” he said, “I was looking for you.” He nodded politely to Wynter and she bobbed her head, her eyes sliding to the hounds. Úlfnaor glanced down at them, “Suígí síos,” he murmured.

The great dogs sat immediately, and Úlfnaor fondled their ears, his many rings gleaming in the sun. Wynter thought there was an air of heavy sadness to the man, a sense of invisible weight pressing him down. He sighed and turned his attention to Christopher once more, a question on his lips, but then faltered and stared, noticing the young man’s ragged state. His dark eyes flicked to take in Wynter’s equally frayed condition.

“Frith an Domhain,” he said. “You are used up, you both. Why you not rest?”

Christopher clutched the basin and towels to his naked chest, swaying and glaring belligerently from swollen, red-rimmed eyes.

“Thank you for your consideration, Lord Úlfnaor,” said Wynter, tearing her eyes from Christopher’s grim face. “We are on our way now to lay down for a while in the shade.”

“Good,” said Úlfnaor, eyeing them both with concern. “Good. Coinín,” he said, “the Caoirigh would like you and your family to join them at evening.

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