‘When you were ten months old your mother set sail for Havre with the intention of introducing you to your grandparents.’ He sighed. ‘It was the worst of timing. Goltoy’s men were poised to seize the castle. Your grandparents were dead before the ship landed in Havre.’
A pause opened. Risha’s tongue seemed overlarge in her mouth.
‘News reached the ship that carried you, but Goltoy’s fleet blocked the route back to LeMarc. Through some means I’ve never learnt, the two of you were smuggled ashore and away.’
Fly, fly! Bright blood staining patterned fabric, pooling across stone.
‘We tried for years to discover what had happened. It was only later — much later — that I learnt of Pelonius’s role in Cattra’s escape. Even knowing it, we couldn’t trace him.’
Risha watched the dance of the flames. Her mother. Her fingers curled around the brooch she was wearing, her mother’s brooch: the crest of Havre.
Lost. All lost.
A shiver ran through her.
‘Your mother’s disappearance drove Donnel into a frenzy, and all the while he had raiders nibbling at his borders, Goltoy’s fleet harrying the coast. By the time a peace was wrought, Cattra had vanished.’
‘But … why go to Westlaw rather than back to LeMarc?’
‘I have wondered that myself,’ Cantrel said.
Barc spoke, startling them both. ‘They made initially for Elswater Sound, but Goltoy had no intention of letting his prize slip away. To escape, their only option was to go north.’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘The details Pelon shared with me were sketchy, but it was a question I asked.’
‘My mother: how …?’ She couldn’t voice it. The tightening she felt in her chest seemed not solely her own.
‘Pelon told me she fell ill in the third week of their journey,’ Barc said. ‘He did all he could but … she is buried near Torless, in the foothills of the mountains. He couldn’t risk marking the grave, nor bear leaving it unmarked, so it carries the name of her old nurse.’
A stricken wail made Risha flinch. ‘Nonno?’ But the tenuous thread was broken.
Both men were staring at her. ‘Cattra called her nurse Nonno, though her given name was Nannet,’ Cantrel said. ‘How do you know the name?’
She hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud. ‘I’m … I’m not sure. Perhaps from Meredus.’ She changed the subject. ‘If Goltoy was responsible for the murder of my grandparents, how is that he hasn’t been punished?’
Cantrel’s thin lips turned downwards. ‘There was not enough proof to satisfy the Sitting.’
‘And never will be, while he controls it,’ Barc added. A log fell in the grate.
‘Goltoy’s aim was to destroy all the ancient houses save his own, but he overreached himself,’ Cantrel said. ‘Within a year Somoran had murdered his uncle — Goltoy’s ally — and proclaimed himself Margetta’s protector.’ Barc spat noisily. Cantrel ignored him. ‘Goltoy’s puppet, Quilec, still sits in Caledon, but he underestimated the solid burghers of Havre. The men he placed there proved strangely accident-prone and had a habit of falling prey to illnesses of the mind.’
Within the flickering flames Risha suddenly saw a woman, haggard and ill-kempt, her hands clasped before her, but in strength rather than supplication. She blinked and the vision was gone.
Unaware, Cantrel continued. ‘Having dispensed with Goltoy’s lordlings, the townsmen established a ruling council, which proved a useful device for stalling competition between them.’
‘Why do Fratton and Caledon not do the same?’ Risha asked. ‘And why do the people of Westlaw put up with Goltoy, knowing what he’s done?’
With her chin thrust forward, mouth fixed in a stubborn line, the resemblance to her father was indisputable. Cantrel allowed himself a grim smile. ‘Somoran rules Fratton through fear. In Caledon there is not the unity to resist, but the impetus is building. As for Westlaw: Goltoy has a stranglehold on his people and a strong power base in the west. He also has control of the Sitting.’ Cantrel paused. ‘But his debts will be paid. Your father bides his time, Arishara, but Cattra will be avenged. Donnel has sworn his life to it. The loss of your mother grieves him, like a wound that can’t heal.’
In the crackle and hiss of the burning logs Risha thought she heard a sigh, like air released between closed teeth. Then all was silence.
19
Othbridge
As Risha watched Muir and Harl ride back towards the forest, a band tightened around her chest. The plan was flimsy, the odds heavily weighted against the three men.
‘It’s our best chance,’ Barc had argued. ‘With Somoran away, the guard will be relaxed. And with a distraction in the square—’
‘Too risky.’ Cantrel had shaken his head. ‘And the consequences of failure—’
‘We won’t fail. Margetta walks in the garden each day for an hour, while Somoran’s “justice” is meted out at the courtyard gallows. Two women walk with her — one a hard-faced baggage, but the other we can rely on. And thanks to Somoran’s fears of assassination, the guard will be reduced by half, the rest travelling with him.’
‘How many watch the girl?’ Muir had asked.
‘Two in the garden, two more in the chamber and four patrolling the wall.’
‘And you plan to get her out single-handed?’ Cantrel’s scepticism had been clear.
‘Two of the guards will be with us, and we have other friends within the keep.’
‘And beyond it?’
‘The loyalists are split over removing Margetta from Fratton,’ Barc had conceded. ‘But there is nowhere in the city she would be safe; Somoran understands too well how to rule by fear.’
Cantrel leant forward to stir the flames. ‘Donnel supports freeing the girl, but it’s risky. Somoran left for Caledon two days ago, you say?’
Barc nodded. ‘We’ve a week, not more. In a month Margetta turns thirteen which, according to Somoran, is old enough for a wedding.’ He paused. ‘We’ll get no better chance.’
As they had gone over and over the details of the plan, Risha had begun to believe that it just might be possible. Now, as she watched Muir and Harl disappear into the shadows of Great Caledon Forest, she was overcome with doubt. Margetta was a stranger to her. The girl’s plight — even her life — mattered less to Risha than the lives of the men now lost to sight within the trees.
‘Come,’ Cantrel said, setting his heels to his mount. ‘They’ll be back in a week and I, for one, am eager to hasten this chill from my bones.’
Risha nudged Torfell in his wake, the horses’ hooves ringing on the stonework as they re-crossed the bridge. At its far end, smoke from the watchtower’s chimneys offered a welcome promise and, despite her misgivings, she shared Cantrel’s eagerness to escape the steady rain.
The seneschal wasted no time in dispatching a pigeon to summon Kern and an additional troop of guardsmen from the citadel.
Bayer ran a hand through his rough beard. ‘You think Somoran will suspect LeMarc’s involvement?’
‘There will be no one he does not suspect.’
The captain grunted. ‘It’ll mean war if he learns the truth.’
‘Only if we fail to hold the bridge.’
Risha shivered. It was not only Muir’s and Harl’s lives that Barc was risking. Cantrel had said that Donnel supported freeing Margetta, but not before he’d secured Havre. ‘The stronger LeMarc’s alliances, the less likely Somoran will move against us,’ Cantrel had explained. But if Havre refused to recognise her, LeMarc might find itself alone.
It was too late now to change their minds. Leaving Cantrel with Bayer, Risha spread her dripping cloak before the fire and went in search of food.
Emett was in the kitchen and greeted her with a grin. ‘You’ve lost your watchdogs.’
With their lives at stake she felt ill-inclined to jest.
‘Risha, I’ve been wondering—’ Emett stopped, a dull flush seeping up his cheeks. ‘Could you … Can I … That is, is it hard to learn to read?’
She hid her surprise. ‘Not really. I could teach you — or Cantrel might, if you’d rather.’
Emett’s smile was so wide it caused her own lips to quirk. Plucking a stick from the kitchen fire, she knocked the embers from its tip and smoothed one end to a charcoal point. On the stones of the hearth, in large, careful shapes, she wrote Emett’s name and her own. ‘Each letter has a sound,’ she began, falling unconsciously into the cadence of Pelon’s voice.
It rained non-stop for days. If the weather was similarly dismal in Fratton, it would keep Margetta indoors and Barc’s plan would falter — Risha didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. That she still felt aggrieved with them for all they’d known and not told her did nothing to dull her nagging fear.
When the fourth morning dawned clear, Cantrel announced his intention to visit the farmsteads that lay east, in the foothills of the northern Othgard Mountains. ‘You’re both welcome to accompany me.’
Emett didn’t share Risha’s enthusiasm. ‘Leave me more words to practise. I’d far rather that than climb back into a saddle.’ His persistence had surprised her. Already he could write the alphabet and spell out simple words.
‘He has an eager mind,’ Cantrel agreed, when Risha touched on the subject. ‘Have you asked what he intends to do with it?’
She had not.
They rode northeast, following the river upstream. Days of rain had swollen it to a roiling brown torrent that made the wildest section of the El look tame by comparison. After an hour they veered south into broken hill country. They passed no dwellings, though the land around them sparkled in the watery sunlight against a backdrop of rain-washed hills.
Late in the morning they topped a rise that gave a view of a broad, sheltered valley. ‘Corsdale,’ Cantrel said. ‘The Otharn hills hide a dozen such valleys, fertile and sheltered enough for both stock and grain. The summers are wetter than in the south and the winters harder.’
The farmsteads scattered across the valley had a prosperous air. ‘I’ve often thought I might retire here,’ he added.
Risha turned in surprise. The seneschal seemed so much a part of the citadel it was hard to imagine him elsewhere. Testing the image, Risha frowned. ‘Donnel would miss you.’
Cantrel made no reply.
The valley’s farmers were eager to talk. That they were seeing more of the hill people was a constant refrain.
‘The lowlanders in Fratton are forbidden to trade with them,’ one man told them. ‘I don’t say they’re innocent as babes, but they’re neither the outlaws Somoran has decreed.’
‘Aye, that’s why they’re drifting through to settle the forest this side,’ another added.
‘Do they keep within the law?’
The man shrugged. ‘I’ve heard there’s been some poaching up in Garadale, but we’ve not been troubled here. Come winter, though … who knows?’
‘Perhaps expanding the garrison at Othbridge will have additional benefits,’ Cantrel mused, as he steered a circuit that took them south and west before they turned again towards the river.
‘So the hill people will be labelled outlaws here as well?’
‘If they poach from our farmers, they make themselves such. How would you have it, Arishara?’
‘If they have the means to survive on their own resources they’d have no reason to resort to poaching. Why not offer to tithe them land in the mountains? If it’s possible to survive on the land around Torfell, it’s surely possible here.’
Cantrel pursed his lips in a reflective silence.
When the following morning held fair Cantrel proposed a further journey, following a wider loop that would keep them from Othbridge for a night. ‘It’s too soon to expect them back,’ he added, rightly assessing Risha’s hesitation. ‘With the weather as it’s been, Barc may only now have a chance to put his plan into action.’
Risha chewed her nail. Delay increased the likelihood that Somoran would return before Muir and Harl were safely away from FrattonSeat.
‘We’ll spend a night in Garadale and return tomorrow afternoon. Kern will be a few days yet.’
Risha’s concerns skipped sideways. ‘Will Donnel have returned from Havre?’ With the rescue of Margetta taking priority, she’d barely thought about the news Barc had given her — or rather, she acknowledged, she’d chosen not to think of it.
Cantrel donned his cloak. ‘If he has, I expect he’ll come north with Kern.’
How should she greet Donnel when she next saw him? As lord or father? She studied her toes in their mud-crusted boots. The kitchen door opened.
‘Do you ride with us, Emett?’ Cantrel asked.
‘It’ll do you good to get out,’ Risha said, eager for any distraction, and was pleased when Emett allowed himself to be persuaded.
As they rode southeast from the river, Emett announced with surprise that he felt less uncomfortable in the saddle.
‘You grow accustomed to it,’ Cantrel agreed. ‘At least until your bones begin to ache with age.’
In Garadale they heard that there had so far been only occasional instances of poaching, but the farmers were nervous of what the winter might bring.
‘They sometimes call to trade for milk and wool,’ one woman told them. ‘They’re friendly enough, but it’s clear they’re near starving. The man I spoke to was a potter by trade, and lucky to escape with his life by his account.’
‘Mostly they’ve been dispossessed because they can’t meet Fratton’s ever-rising taxes,’ another agreed.
‘Unfairly dispossessed or not, it means trouble for us,’ her husband put in.
‘If we were to tithe them land in the hill country, they’d have less reason to resort to poaching,’ Cantrel suggested. Silence greeted this notion. ‘There’d need to be a charter covering foresting rights and trade terms.’
‘It could work,’ a man said cautiously. ‘Better than having them live illegally and poach as they please.’
‘We’ll get the brunt of it here. We’re nearest the mountains.’
‘The brunt or the benefit,’ Cantrel said, diffidently.
They slept that night in the kitchen of a farmhouse, the heat from the stove staving off the approaching winter’s chill. Despite it Risha slept uneasily, her sleep broken by dreams that skirted just beyond her grasp. Sometime in the night she fancied herself soothed by a lullaby. When she woke she wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or the young mother settling her babe.
Soon after sunrise they bid the farmsteaders farewell and rode south and west in a wide loop, passing through two more valleys where Cantrel again seeded the notion of chartered settlement for the hill people.
It was a long day. By the time they came within sight of the guardhouse at Othbridge, Emett was again suffering ill-effects from his unaccustomed hours in the saddle. Risha laughed at the soldiers’ advice Cantrel offered. A shout alerted them. A guardsman was visible on the stonework of the bridge, several more on the northern ramparts of the watchtower. All held their bows ready. Cantrel spurred his horse to a gallop, Risha only paces behind as they reached the watchtower.
Three horses were halfway across the open ground between the woods and the bridge, coming on at a gallop. As they watched, a group of soldiers broke from the trees, fanning out behind them like hounds. The front horses were labouring. Risha recognised Harl in the lead. Firefly was at the rear.
Several of the pursuing soldiers — there were more than a dozen — lifted crossbows to their shoulders. Risha snatched a breath as the bolts flew. They fell short but the gap was closing. Harl rounded, that small delay bringing him within range, and shot a bolt. One soldier fell; the others came on. Harl shot again but missed. Whipping his horse around he raced after the others. Firefly had overtaken the front rider — she saw now that it was Barc, a small figure seated before him. Muir veered aside to where the ground rose in a hillock and pulled Firefly to a circling halt, lifting his crossbow. Another of their pursuers fell, but there were too many.
Cantrel’s reply was tight-lipped. ‘Once they make the bridge we can hold them. Not in the open.’
Guards, she saw, stood ready to close the bridge’s northern gate. There were defences all along its length — but could the men reach it in time?
Muir had kicked Firefly to a gallop and peeled away. Three soldiers followed but the rest came on.
‘He’ll be trapped!’
Four more soldiers broke from the main bunch and fanned out to the right.
‘They’re trying to cut them off from the bridge,’ Cantrel muttered. With a curse he wheeled his mount towards the guardhouse, hooves ringing on stone. Risha stood in her stirrups to get a clearer view. Muir had turned and was fighting two soldiers. A third lay crumpled on the ground, his horse cantering back the way it had come. Barc burst over a rise, froth flying from his horse’s muzzle. With a lurch, Risha saw that his pursuers had gained ground and would likely succeed in cutting him off. Already he was being forced to veer.
Cantrel surged past her, a pike raised in his hand as he urged his mount across the bridge. Bayer turned from his post, uttering a string of oaths as he headed towards her at a run.
‘What’s going on?’ Emett stood beside her, the mare’s bridle in his hand.
‘Give me the horse, boy!’ Bayer shouted.
Obediently Emett tossed him the reins. Bayer flung himself onto the mare and charged towards the bridge.
At the far end Cantrel thundered through the gate, cloak flying behind him as he bore down on the breakaway riders. Bayer lumbered after on Emett’s quiet mare.
Risha’s fingers clenched Torfell’s reins as Cantrel collided with the oncoming soldiers. One fell to the pike. The others came on. Bayer charged a soldier who swerved aside. Behind now, Cantrel had drawn his sword and was giving chase.
Harl — where was Harl? A hiss escaped her lips as she saw him surge up a hillock. He was trailing Barc, less than an arrow’s flight ahead of the main group of soldiers. They might make it, she thought, her heart pounding her ribs, but for the two men who were now between Barc and the bridge. One of those had circled to face Cantrel. Soon — soon — they’d be within range of the bridge’s defenders. Risha spared them a glance: three men were poised on the ramparts. She turned back. Bayer had fallen. He was up! Risha let out a warning cry — one of the soldiers was cantering towards him. Bayer raised his sword to face the mounted attack. Where was Muir?
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