Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

  He tilted his head. ‘And of you, my lady. So there will be good news alongside grief.’

  She frowned. ‘It will scarcely compensate.’ Too many men had died on her behalf. It was a burden she didn’t know how to carry.

  Nolan smoothly changed the subject. ‘My lady, thirty of my men have volunteered to remain in your service, several stonemasons and carpenters among them.’

  ‘On that,’ Bruer added, ‘you can leave it with me to arrange a shipload of supplies to support them.’

  Feron’s eyes darted between captain and commander. Havre’s politics lay like a web, sticky and tangled, before her. The longer she skirted it the better. She made sure her smile embraced all three men. ‘That will make a considerable difference to how quickly we can rebuild. You have my thanks.’

  She looked at Muir. His head was bent to Margetta. Feron reclaimed her attention with a query about the citadel’s reserves of food, which led Bruer to shift the conversation to the coming winter and the priorities of rebuilding.

  By the evening’s end the small store of energy she’d regained was thoroughly depleted. Margetta had retired early; Galyn following soon after. Even Timon seemed subdued. As the men dispersed, Muir approached her. ‘If I might have a word, my lady.’

  ‘Of course. I’d thought to get some fresh air. Have you seen where Westlaw’s scaling tower was repelled?’

  Muir was silent as they walked the seaward battlements. At the watchtower where Cantrel had fallen, Risha turned to face the sea. ‘It seems odd that everything should be so quiet when it was only yesterday that—’ She stopped.

  ‘The aftermath of battle is always strange, as if you’ve been shaken out of the world and have to find your way back in.’

  She turned. ‘That’s it exactly! Muir, I’m glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.’

  His mouth flickered in his lopsided smile.

  She looked along the length of the wall, remembering the ladders and the Westlarn soldier who’d fallen with her crossbow bolt in his throat. She shivered.

  ‘You’re cold.’

  ‘No.’ She wrapped an arm across her chest. ‘Muir, do you think about the men you’ve killed?’

  His lips parted but he was slow to find an answer. ‘Less now,’ he said at last. ‘At first.’ He studied her. ‘Galyn told me the part you played in defending the walls.’

  Risha looked away. She was ashamed of it, suddenly, even though she wouldn’t have done anything differently, save warn Cantrel sooner. ‘It’s not only that. The fishing boats—’

  ‘A clever strategy.’

  Her mouth set. ‘Half of the crews were drowned or killed by Westlaw’s sailors. Their deaths rest with me alone; Cantrel was against it. Most of them were only children.’ Her voice broke on the last word.

  He reached a hand to comfort her, his fingertips cold against her skin. His voice was gentle. ‘More would have died otherwise. Leadership carries responsibility, Risha. Others trust their lives to you, and those you spend, you spend for the greater good.’

  His thumb brushed her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine. ‘You have an instinct for managing men; take tonight, the way you charmed that self-satisfied merchant. And Nolan.’ He dropped his hand.

  She frowned.

  ‘Risha, I—’ He cleared his throat. ‘My lady. With your permission, I’ll head north tomorrow.’

  ‘North? But you can’t! Not with so much to be done, and Cantrel ill.’

  ‘Galyn will support you, and Harl. You won’t want for advisors.’

  ‘That’s not the point! I want you.’

  The space between them seemed suddenly crackling with tension.

  ‘Muir.’ She touched his arm.

  ‘This scaling tower.’ His voice was tight.

  She felt rebuffed, though there was no reason why she should. She turned away. A sliver of moon hung above the dark water, its scattered reflection like a path leading to Havre. ‘Your horses will need at least two days’ rest,’ she said stiffly. ‘Longer if you plan to ride them as hard on the way back.’

  He drew a breath and slowly released it. ‘I’ve no choice, Risha. Donnel bid me ensure you were safe. Given you are, my duty lies at his side in Fratton.’

  A gust of wind caught at her hair as she turned to study him. ‘Was it only for Donnel that you came?’

  His mouth quirked. ‘I answered that in Caledon Forest. I begged permission to come, my lady.’

  A strand of hair tangled across her eyes. Muir caught it and tucked it safe behind her ear. His voice was light. ‘You’ve grown up in the months I’ve been gone.’

  She was angry suddenly. ‘Then perhaps you might stop treating me like a child.’

  Muir made a low noise in his throat. ‘That … is not what it is at all.’

  ‘I don’t understand you.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ He cleared his throat.

  A guardsman approached along the wall, nodding a greeting as he passed.

  ‘You should get some sleep,’ Muir said.

  ‘I’m not tired. But you go, by all means.’ Her response sounded snappy in her ears.

  Muir hesitated a moment then, with a brief nod, strode away. At the stairwell, he turned. ‘You’re right about the horses. They’ve earned a day’s rest.’ He studied her a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘Goodnight, Arishara.’

  32

  Winter’s heart

  ‘This isn’t working.’ Timon fell back in his chair, the heel of one hand pressed to his forehead. ‘The harder I try, the more it feels as if a mule is kicking me in the head.’

  ‘Maybe we’re trying too hard.’

  ‘But I heard you — felt you — in Havre. On the strength of it I convinced Nolan to send a troop looking for Harl — and, believe me, that wasn’t easy to explain.’ He moved irritably. ‘If we could do it across such a distance, why not now?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s about distance.’ She shied from telling him about Nonno. She had decided that she would speak first to Donnel. Then, when she went to Havre, she’d find Nonno for herself. ‘Let’s leave it. Have you seen Cantrel today?’ The seneschal had finally begun to rally but his recovery was slow, both age and the inclement weather against him.

  Timon nodded. ‘He’s restless. You do know—’ He broke off as the door opened to admit Emett.

  ‘Timon, Galyn’s looking for you.’

  The young man uncoiled with entirely conscious grace. ‘Tomorrow?’

  Risha nodded.

  Emett frowned at the door as it closed on Timon’s back. ‘Are you two …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know. He acts like he has some kind of special claim to you. And not just him.’

  She frowned. ‘You’re not jealous?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s just that I … feel responsible for you.’

  ‘You needn’t.’

  He shrugged and turned away. Risha gazed dispiritedly out on the sodden landscape: grey sky, grey mountains, grey stone. It had been raining for days, torrents falling from the gutters and hurtling in brown rivers across the cobbles. ‘Are you content here, Emett?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Cantrel was planning to offer you a permanent position. Has he spoken of it?’

  ‘He — I — It was mentioned.’ Emett looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I’ve been wondering whether we shouldn’t invite Ganny to visit next summer. She could travel with Marit’s traders as far as Caledon at least.’

  He said nothing. Risha tapped impatient fingers on the stone sill. ‘Where’s Margetta?’

  ‘Helping Fretha. She’s happier settled indoors than you,’ Emett added, then flushed. ‘I don’t mean —’

  Risha waved him to silence. ‘I wish there was some word from Donnel.’ Crossing to the desk she picked up a ledger then dropped it back. ‘What do you think of Feron’s scheme?’

  ‘It should work. He knows his business.’

  Risha had come to the same conclusion. Feron was proving an une
xpected asset, as were Nolan’s builders. Bruer, too, had been true to his word, a shipload of grain and supplies arriving a week after Havre’s forces departed. Best of all, Dragonfly had been on board. ‘I’m going out.’

  ‘In this?’

  ‘It’s the best it’s been all week.’

  Rain oozed down her neck as Dragonfly baulked at a wind-bent branch, dancing sideways till she corrected him.

  Harl, beside her, sat comfortably, his body canted slightly to balance his lopsidedness. Risha had found him in the weapons yard, as she’d known she would. He spent hours there every day, working to regain with his left hand the skills he’d lost with his right. Her jaw tightened. The squabbles of the last year had left so much grief and pain in their wake, and the return of Donnel’s army would inevitably bring more. And for what? She sighed.

  ‘My lady?’ Harl enquired.

  She shook her head. LeMarc was waterlogged but its people were prosaic and, thanks to Havre, none were likely to starve.

  A group of riders topped a fold of hill, coming on at a canter. There were seven. Harl narrowed his eyes then, with a shout, spurred forward to meet them. It took Risha a moment longer.

  ‘Gorth!’

  The man’s broad grin was almost lost in a wild growth of beard. ‘My Lady LeMarc,’ he said, bowing low from the saddle.

  ‘What news from the north?’ A chill shivered through her. ‘My father?’

  ‘Lord Donnel sends his greetings, and with them the news that Somoran is dead.’

  ‘He’s coming home?’ Her eyes strayed along the road, but Gorth was already shaking his head, droplets flicking from the straggling ends of his hair.

  ‘It’s a beginning rather than an end. Somoran’s legacy is not a pleasant one.’

  She scanned the faces of the other riders. ‘Muir’s not with you.’

  Gorth hesitated. ‘There were some soldiers barricaded themselves in the castle towards the end — they’d been Somoran’s henchmen and they knew how the townsfolk would deal with them, I dare say. The thing is, Muir was wounded. Lass, he’ll be all right.’ He reached across to steady her. ‘He sent a message: he said I should tell you that his horse will get a good rest.’ He squinted at her. ‘He seemed to think you’d make some sense of that.’

  Fretha refused to let them see Cantrel until they’d dried off. Risha suspected it a ploy to give the man time to prepare. Most days, now, he spent an hour or two at his desk, but with the weather so poor he’d been keeping largely to his bed. When Gorth saw him he was too slow to mask his shock.

  Cantrel waved his concern aside. ‘What of Goltoy?’ he asked.

  ‘Slunk west with his tail between his legs.’

  ‘I’m surprised Donnel let him escape,’ Risha said.

  Gorth growled. ‘The man’s slippery as a marsh snake. Your father was ready to slit his gullet but Goltoy matched him rage for rage, claiming his fleet commander set out only after he’d marched east, proving the man played his own game. Some may even have believed him; he was convincing enough. He swore retribution on all who’d aided the traitor. Donnel had no choice but to let him go.’

  There was a shocked silence.

  ‘We couldn’t prove the man was lying, and we could ill-afford to face his army as well as Fratton’s.’ Gorth met Risha’s eyes levelly. ‘The time for dealing with Goltoy will come — and he’ll not quickly recover from the loss of his fleet and a thousand men. Who’d have thought the child I taught to hold a knife would prove so formidable?’

  ‘I’ve had reason to be grateful for the skills you taught me,’ she acknowledged. ‘Have LeMarc’s losses been high?’

  Gorth dissembled. ‘Not so high as Fratton’s.’ He caught the look on her face. ‘War can’t be waged without loss.’

  ‘So I’ve learnt.’

  ‘What’s Donnel’s plan for Fratton?’ Cantrel asked. Fretha had arranged cushions to ease his wound but his eyes, at least, held a hint of his old energy.

  ‘His aim is to unite the emerging factions in Margetta’s name. The difficulty lies in assessing who remained loyal. Barc is wary of some who claim it.’ Gorth’s lip curled. ‘Most were so secret in their efforts that they alone knew of them.’

  ‘How is Barc?’ Risha asked.

  ‘He did his part, and he’s lucky to have survived it. After Margetta’s escape Somoran embarked on a fresh frenzy of killing.’ He paused. ‘It’ll be hard for her to return and see the price that’s been paid for her freedom.’

  ‘Donnel hoped that some who’d fled after Everil’s death would return,’ Cantrel said.

  Gorth nodded. ‘If the people will have them. They’re wary of trusting anyone.’

  ‘How soon does he want Margetta to go north?’

  ‘As soon as the weather improves. It won’t be without risk, but it’ll help steady their purpose.’

  ‘She’ll need a bodyguard she can rely on as well as councillors she can trust.’

  ‘And friends.’ Risha thought of Emett.

  Gorth sighed. ‘It’ll take a strong will to see Fratton through the next few years. Somoran has done damage, with what you see being the least of it.’

  Cantrel shifted restlessly, a flicker of pain quickly masked. ‘You might take the news to Margetta. And let Galyn know where things stand.’

  Gorth nodded. ‘I’ll come with you,’ Risha offered.

  ‘He’s worse than I expected,’ Gorth said quietly, as they climbed the stairs.

  ‘It’s just that he no longer seems indestructible.’

  ‘Aye, maybe.’ He sighed. ‘We’re none of us that.’

  A chill of fear leapt through her but she tamped it down. Donnel was well a few days ago, and Muir — Muir would recover. Risha straightened her spine. As they turned along the corridor Emett burst from the small parlour. ‘Is it true? Fratton has fallen?’

  ‘Where’s Margetta?’

  ‘I’m here.’ She slipped past Emett’s shoulder.

  ‘My Lady Fratton,’ Gorth said. The girl flinched.

  ‘Somoran is dead,’ Risha said gently.

  Margetta gave a single swift nod and motioned them into the parlour. ‘Please. Tell me.’

  Later that evening Risha climbed to the battlements. The sea was sullen and rain-pocked, the watchtower providing shelter from the drizzle if not the night’s chill. Lights in the town below showed the steady progress of rebuilding.

  The relief she’d felt when Gorth told her Fratton had fallen seemed, just a few hours later, naïve. Donnel would not return for months. Margetta faced challenges far greater than Risha’s own — she’d been surprised by the girl’s calm acceptance. But would any of their battles ever be over?

  A shuffling step behind made her turn. It was Cantrel. ‘You should be indoors in the warmth.’

  ‘I am not yet so old and infirm that I can’t show my face on the battlements,’ he answered. ‘Gorth told me you were here.’ It took him a moment to regain his breath. ‘Fratton is far from relieved of its troubles, despite being free of Somoran,’ he said at last. ‘As for Fratton, so for Elgard.’

  ‘When I left Torfell, I didn’t expect to become entangled in the politics of the kingdom.’

  ‘Would you have it otherwise?’

  A break in the cloud spilled enough moonlight for her to make out the craggy lines of the seneschal’s face. Risha shrugged his question aside.

  ‘Donnel is driven by twin goads, Arishara: his vision of an Elgard again united, as it was under his great-grandfather, and his desire for revenge. It lies with you to temper both.’

  Across the darkened ocean the Teeth of Sargath formed a shadowy outline against the wind-ruffled waters. A rendering of their profile on parchment flooded into her mind. ‘Did Pelon know what lay ahead of me?’

  Cantrel grunted assent. ‘Why else refuse to bring you to LeMarc? He thought you safer in seclusion.’

  ‘He might have done better to warn me.’

  ‘Did he not write a book telling you the history of Elgard?’
<
br />   Her head swivelled towards him. ‘But …’ She hesitated, following the lure he had set in her mind.

  ‘Cattra and Donnel’s marriage united the south,’ Cantrel continued. ‘The pledge she asked of him, Arishara, vests that unity in you.’

  It was too much to take in. Leaning from the stone tower, Risha let the wind tug at her hair and stroke its cold fingers along her cheek. In the summer, her father, Lord Donnel, would be home, and Muir with him. For now it would be enough.

  Acknowledgements

  With thanks to Barbara Larson for her ongoing support and encouragement; Rebecca Lal for detailed and thoughtful editing; my first and last draft readers, Jan Clothier and Madeleine Ross; and the team at Random House. Thanks also to Hamish, for being there, for believing, and for providing more material than he knows.

  About the Author

  Anna Mackenzie lives in arcadian Hawke’s Bay where she dedicates her time to family, writing, teaching and gardening, in whatever order seems to work. This is her seventh novel; she wrote it for her daughter.

  You can catch up with Anna at facebook.com/annamackenzie.nz.author

  Or visit her website:

  annamackenzie-writes.blogspot.co.nz

  Also by Anna Mackenzie:

  High Tide, 2003

  Out on the Edge, 2005

  Shadow of the Mountain, 2008

  The Sea-wreck Stranger Trilogy:

  The Sea-wreck Stranger, 2007

  Ebony Hill, 2010

  Finder’s Shore, 2011

  Copyright

  The assistance of Creative New Zealand is gratefully acknowledged

  by the publisher.

  A LONGACRE BOOK published by Random House New Zealand

  18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland, New Zealand

  For more information about our titles go to www.randomhouse.co.nz