The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  “Ooooh!” the girl cried, scrambling for the teetering wine goblet. Halla’s hand shot out to right it, but not before some of its contents sloshed out and spread a small puddle of burgundy on the linen napkin.

  The girl’s face crumpled. “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady!” A tear trickled down her cheek as she patted ineffectually at the blotch of liquid with her apron.

  Halla laid her hand over the maid’s trembling fingers. It was then she caught sight of the filigreed amulet dangling around the servant’s neck. Halla recognized it at once as å Livåri workmanship.

  Surely, she thought, this is a sign! “There now, never mind,” she said, shifting her gaze to study the girl’s appearance. “What do they call you?”

  The maid was about her own age, with dark, soulful eyes. “Me name’s Quina, m’lady,” she said, bobbing an awkward curtsey. “I’m ev’r so sorry about yer wine. Cook’s sure t’ put me out the door for the mess I’ve made of ’er linen!”

  Halla gave Quina’s hand a gentle squeeze. “But you didn’t!” she said. “I spilled the wine myself when you were setting down the tray.” She slid the soiled napkin from under the glass and offered it to the girl, who was now looking at her in astonishment.

  “You’re å Livåri, aren’t you?” Halla said.

  Quina froze, like a startled doe poised for flight.

  “Don’t worry,” Halla hastened to assure her, “your secret’s safe with me.” She shook the napkin she was still holding out to the girl. “Now dry your tears, and I’ll share a secret of my own with you.”

  Before Halla could say more, there came a scratch on the door. “Who is it?” she called.

  “It’s Grelda, m’lady,” came the muffled reply. “I’ve come to help you prepare for bed.”

  Winking at the maid, Halla plucked the stained napkin from the girl’s hand, hurried to the door, and swung it open. “That won’t be necessary,” she said to the woman who quickly stepped back, as if she’d had an ear to the wood. “Quina will attend to me.” She thrust the napkin at the startled maid. “Please bear my apologies to Cook for soiling this—Grelda, was it? I had a dizzy spell and knocked over the wine.”

  “Oh my…” Grelda, a tall thin woman with a long nose, accepted the cloth gingerly, her cheeks flushing. “Shall I fetch the doctor… or… do you require more wine?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Halla imperiously, “but I’ll keep Quina here with me tonight, just in case I need to send for anyone.”

  Before the woman could rise from her curtsey, Halla had shut the door. She leaned back against it and smiled at the serving girl across the room, who returned her gaze in stunned silence.

  “Now, Quina,” said Halla brightly. “We’ve some planning to do!”

  Chapter 20

  “I still can’ believe ye gave Mistress Grelda that soiled cloth!” Quina giggled. “She’s a lady’s maid, and has naught to do with kitchen work. Ye saved me place here, m’lady, that’s fer certain! Cook said one more cock-up and I’d be out on me ear!”

  After that, it took very little persuasion to enlist Quina’s support for Halla’s suddenly improvised plan. Finding one of the å Livåri here at Trillyon was too much of a coincidence to ignore. As it turned out, Quina was actually a foundling, and had been raised by crofters in the area. Only the amulet had identified her as one of the wandering folk. But all the same, Halla took meeting Quina as a sign that she should join Bria and travel south. After all, she thought, if I must leave my beloved Lorendale, then I shall choose my destination! She had decided she would gladly forfeit her privileged life if it meant she had no freedom in it.

  Now that she’d set her mind to the plan, she sent Quina to the kitchen for gingered tea and a sleeping draught, with instructions to announce that Lady Halla was feeling poorly and would require at least a full day’s rest before continuing on her journey. Further, Quina was to inform the cook that her ladyship did not wish to be disturbed, but could send up a bowl of coddled eggs late morning for her breakfast. After delivering this message, Quina was to discreetly scavenge the larder for provisions, for Halla would need them in the event Bria’s people had already moved on and she had to go after them on her own.

  Fortunately, Quina proved to be a canny thief. Perhaps it runs in the blood, thought Halla giddily as the maid laid out the cheese, bread, and beer she’d procured.

  “Well done, Quina!” she said, and the girl beamed with pleasure. “Now we shall need to find the most discreet way to the stables.”

  “Yer in luck, m’lady!” Quina cried, before clapping her hand over her mouth and lowering her voice. “There’s a back staircase,” she whispered. “It’s supposed t’ be locked at all times, but… we’ve… I’ve been usin’ it to…” Her cheeks flamed bright pink.

  Halla understood at once. “You have a beau?” She smiled. “And you’ve been walking out with him?”

  “Newt’s ev’r so handsome, m’lady,” the girl gushed. “We’re… we’re ev’r so in love!” Her color deepened with this bold declaration. “I hope yer ladyship won’t think less o’ me because of it.”

  “On the contrary!” Halla assured her. “We’re independent women, you and I, are we not? With just as much right to happiness as anyone!”

  They beamed at one another for a moment before Quina asked, “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady, but what are ye wantin’ in the stables?”

  “I’ll let you in on my secret now,” said Halla. “I’m leaving here tonight to seek a new life.”

  Quina’s bright expression faded. “But… I don’t understand, m’lady. Aren’t ye t’ become our young lordship’s bride—the future Lady o’ Cardenstowe?”

  Halla felt her grip on the girl’s allegiance abruptly weaken. “Well, it’s not certain,” she explained. “We’re first cousins, you see, and a union between us needs the endorsement of the High King.”

  Quina looked confused. “But surely the king’ll give… that, won’t he?”

  It was clear the maid approved of the marriage, and would be disappointed, to say the least, if Halla shared her true feelings about Whit. She would need to take a different tack. “It’s not just that, Quina. You see… I’m… I’m in love too… with someone else.”

  The serving girl’s dark eyes widened, and impetuously she seized Halla’s hand. “Ooooo! And is he ev’r so handsome, like my Newt?”

  Halla did her best to assume a moonstruck expression. “I cannot marry another,” she said, laying her hand on her heart. She was pleased to see Quina nodding in vigorous agreement.

  “So ye be goin’ to ’im? Is he waitin’ fer ye in the near?”

  “He’s coming from Lorendale to meet me, but you must never say so to anyone. We need to make it look as though I’ve tricked you, so that your place here is safe, and no one will think to question you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, m’lady… but how?”

  “Leave that to me. Now,” said Halla briskly, “let’s pack up these provisions, shall we?”

  * * *

  “This way,” whispered Quina after peeking out into the empty corridor. She darted left down the dark hall.

  Hot on her heels, Halla already rued the two flasks of beer she’d included in the leather sack she clutched. She had taken care to wrap them well, but she feared a telltale clink with every step.

  The passage was only faintly lit by hazy moonlight, making it challenging to navigate past the assorted statuary and furnishings. Quina had a near miss with an urn, and Halla barely stifled her cry when a stuffed fox reared up suddenly in her path.

  The maid gave a small snort. “I shoulda warned ye, m’lady,” she giggled. “Reddy scared the wits out o’ me too, first I laid eyes on ’im.” She had come to a halt before a recessed door. “It’s this way down, m’lady,” she said, drawing a key from her apron pocket.

  The clink of the lock made Hall
a look nervously over her shoulder, but all was still. She followed Quina over the threshold and down a spiral staircase, pressing her palms against the walls of the pitch-black turret through which it descended and trying not to imagine what a misstep might result in.

  Rounding the first turn, Quina froze as a glimmer of lantern light flickered through an embrasure. The maid laid a finger on her lips, and Halla prayed her thudding heart wouldn’t give them away to the watch below. When the light moved on, she was now grateful for the cloaking darkness as they made their way down to ground level.

  With practiced fingers, Quina found the second keyhole in the gloom, and they emerged into the yard, where they were greeted by the strong odor of pigs. The maid led Halla to a series of outbuildings and stopped under the eaves of the barn.

  Halla glanced back with dismay at the two pairs of footprints trailing them in the snow. Thick flakes were still falling, and she could only hope their tracks would be covered by the time the watch next passed.

  “The stable master’ll nae be here for another few hours,” Quina assured her. “Sid’s fond of his dice and his grog.” She pointed to a dark trail that disappeared into a stand of snow-laden pines. “Ye’ll want to take that path there. It heads east a few miles t’ a crossroad. When ye get t’ it, go right and you’ll be on the main road t’ Lorendale. I know it from Newt.”

  Halla squeezed the girl’s hand. “Thank you, Quina. Now you remember what you must do?”

  “Get back t’ yer chamber and drink the sleepin’ draught in some tea,” the girl said, repeating her instructions.

  “Yes, that’s right. Remember to pour two cups, so you can say I insisted you join me. Then just sit in the chair by my bed, and when you wake up, you can raise the alarm. I should be miles away by then.”

  “And with yer… what’s ’is name anyway, m’lady? Yer beau?”

  Halla drew a complete blank. “Er…”

  “Ooooo, I see!” Quina grinned. “The less I know, the better, eh?” She squeezed Halla’s hand. “May Dylar light yer way, m’lady.”

  * * *

  Once Quina had disappeared back the way they’d come, Halla slipped into the barn in search of her horse. As the girl had promised, there was no one about, and while a number of curious ears pricked up as she entered, no alarm was sounded from the stalls.

  She found Rowlan in the last one. A veteran of many campaigns, the stallion knew better than to nicker a greeting. Instead he thrust his noble snout firmly against Halla’s cautioning palm, and stood stolidly while she prepared him for travel.

  It wasn’t until they were heading down the dark trail that Halla began to breathe normally again. The snow was still falling thick and fast, and she took this as another sign she was meant to escape the fate to which her elders would have condemned her, for it would soon hide their tracks. The trees sheltered the trail, there was no wind, and the snowfall was accumulating rapidly.

  While Rowlan had enjoyed only a few hours’ respite, Halla knew he’d been fed and watered, and she was confident he was up to the journey ahead. With rising spirits, she spurred the destrier to a gallop, and they flew toward the road back to Lorendale.

  She was free, completely free, for the first time in her life.

  I might not have it all worked out yet, but I’m sure this is the right choice for me. She could stay with the å Livåri until the spring, and use the time to consider what the future might hold for her. What it won’t hold, she thought with satisfaction, is a loveless marriage bed and a regimented life behind the fortress walls of dreary Cardenstowe Castle!

  Enlivened by her boldness, Halla dared to dream. Once fair weather came, perhaps she would disguise herself as a man and join a company to ride to war against Drinnglennin’s enemies. There were tales of other brave women who had done this, although those stories were of the Before. She might travel south to learn ku ba toi, the ancient art of hand-to-hand combat practiced by the Karan-Rhadians, or take ship to Prinlia over the Erolin Sea and explore the land of Gral. The limitless possibilities made her spirits soar, and she spurred the warhorse on.

  She didn’t see the shadows of three mounted men looming on the darkened road until she was nearly in their midst. She wheeled Rowlan to turn and retreat, only to see two more men emerging from the wood behind her. She was surrounded.

  Did Quina betray me? she wondered.

  The men’s faces were shrouded by dark hoods, but it was clear their intent was to intercept her. None had drawn his weapon, but she slipped her dagger out of her boot all the same. It would do her little good if the men chose to assail her, but at least she could inflict some damage.

  She shifted her weight back, preparing to urge Rowlan into a rear, praying the stallion might yet fight past the men with his flailing hooves. But as she drew back on the reins, one of the riders slid to the ground and calmly took hold of Rowlan’s bridle. The man murmured something in a strange tongue, and the stallion gave a friendly nicker in reply.

  “Unhand my horse, rogue!” Halla cried. “What right have you to bar our path?”

  The rogue remained in shadow, but his reply was surprisingly respectful. “Begging your pardon, my lady—we mean you no harm. If I’m not mistaken, you are Halla of Lorendale?”

  “Who wants to know?” demanded Halla, but her heart sank. If these men weren’t going to attack her, they’d want to escort her, most likely back to Trillyon.

  “A friend,” said the stranger. “May I ask why you’re riding alone at this time of night? Is something amiss at Trillyon?”

  It seemed pointless to lie, so Halla didn’t. “No… That is, I left of my own free will.”

  “I see,” said the man, as though he meant it. “I’m glad we met you then, my lady. I must inform you of a change in plans. We’ll return to Trillyon now, but you won’t be riding to Cardenstowe in the morning. For the time being, please be assured of your safety in our company.”

  “Gently spoken,” observed Halla, “but why should I trust you?”

  “Indeed, why should you?” the stranger agreed. “Perhaps you might feel reassured by a kinsman?” Turning, he signaled to one of the riders, who trotted forward on a pretty grey mare.

  “Believe me,” drawled a familiar voice. “No one could be more relieved than me that you’re not soon to be a bride.”

  Pale moonlight broke through the ragged clouds as the speaker pushed back his cowl, and Halla recognized the mocking dark eyes of her intended groom—her cousin Whit, the newly proclaimed Lord of Cardenstowe.

  Chapter 21

  Borne

  Borne blinked blearily in the dim light, awakened by soft snores close to his ear. He took in the sumptuous trappings of tasseled drapery and fine tapestries for an uncomprehending moment before recalling he was lodged at Windend Castle. The tousled head on the pillow next to his was Cole’s, still sleeping off the excesses of the past night’s revelry. At fifteen, the young lord was still learning to gauge his tolerance for strong drink, and Borne suspected he would not be in good humor when he awoke.

  Cole had been in high spirits last night, though. Before they’d closed down the Amueke Arms, the lad had finally satisfied his lust for the saucy barmaid, Cindra—his first such encounter.

  “Ah, she was soft as silk!” Cole had exulted as Borne gave his unsteady friend a leg up onto his horse.

  “Well, it was high time,” Borne remarked dryly. “I was beginning to think you were destined for the Ossalins!” he jested, referring to a sect of celibates cloistered in the far north on the Brink of Ver.

  “You must come back to Windend with me!” commanded Cole. “We shall toast Cindra the Fair with my father’s best claret!”

  And although Borne had intended only to see his young friend safely to his chambers, the claret had indeed been excellent, and the wind outside forbidding as it rattled and whined round the turrets. They’d finished two more b
ottles before stumbling groggily to bed.

  A servant quietly entered the room, and Borne feigned sleep as the man drew back the heavy curtains to let in the pale morning light and then mended the fire. Once the fellow slipped out again, Borne stared drowsily into the yellow tongues of flame.

  As they had done repeatedly since his accident, thoughts of Maura came unbidden. It had been two months now since she, like her brother, had disappeared.

  In the days following the Lurker’s attack, Borne’s injuries had kept him confined to his bed under the care of Master Zanus, Sir Heptorious’s physiker. Then, on the third morning of his convalescence, he’d jerked awake to the memory of Maura holding him back from the Leap.

  When questioned, Master Zanus gave him the spare details of his rescue. A pair of horsemen wearing no identifying livery had delivered him to Windend and immediately departed. He owed his life to whichever of them had bound his wound. The doctor assured Borne there had been no mention of a maiden in their company. Still, Borne could not discount his recollection.

  It was a week later that Cole mentioned the disappearance of another young Dorfer, whose coilhorn had returned unbridled to her family’s farm. “Very curious,” he remarked as he roamed around the sickroom, picking up pots of unguent and sniffing them. “It was the sister of that boy who vanished just a few months ago. One wonders if there isn’t something sinister in that—What?”

  For Borne had sat up suddenly in his bed and was groping for his boots. His hound, stretched out on the rushes below him, thumped his tail expectantly.

  “Hold there!” Cole cautioned, hurrying to restrain his friend. “What’s lit a fire under you? You’re still under Zanus’s orders for complete bed rest, and the old leech can be a right tyrant when crossed!” But seeing his admonishments were falling on deaf ears, he knelt to assist Borne, who was trying to tug on his boot one-handed. “What has roused you so, my friend?”