Donnel's Promise (12 page)

In a few weeks, or a little longer, Marit’s traders would cross Lindfell Pass.

As they crested a rise sheep scattered before them, but did not move far before again lowering their heads to graze. ‘Do you ever feel like your past is a story you heard told about someone else?’ Risha asked.

Nolan flicked a fly from his thigh with a loop of rein. ‘Perhaps. The raw youth who joined the guard is a long time gone, and his ignorant blustering with him.’

‘But you’re glad you joined? I’ve never understood men’s enthusiasm for war.’

‘Not so much for war. It’s a career; mostly a fairly peaceful one.’

‘And when it isn’t?’

He shrugged. ‘Then you find out if all the training has been effective. And whether you picked the right side.’

Late the following day they crossed into Fratton and were engulfed by the shadowed aisles of Great Caledon Forest. The journey that Risha had made beyond Othbridge with Cantrel, Muir and Harl rose in her memory, and she found herself describing the eerie stillness of the Black Lake.

‘Trees once reigned supreme all the way from here to CaledonWater,’ Fenn said. ‘They still cloak the Otharn foothills end to end.’

‘Providing a haven for any number of bandits.’

‘Not so much bandits as those Somoran forced into banditry,’ Risha said, thinking of the hill people she had encouraged to settle in LeMarc.

Nolan shrugged, leaving her to wonder whether he acknowledged the distinction.

They found no inn to shelter at that night, and so camped beneath the trees.

In the morning Croft found the tracks of a wild creature — perhaps the size of a mountain cat, though the print was different — around the perimeter of the camp.

‘That’s the last night we spend out,’ Nolan said, pushing them on through the morning.

At midday they sat on a hill high above the brooding silence of FrattonWater. To their right the lake stretched a long arm to the south; north, at its nearer end, the road was a narrow glimmer between dark water and darker trees. Immediately below their viewpoint a
cluster
of dwellings and jetties hugged the shore. From the buildings smoke rose in tight strands to merge into a single low cloud that carried the scent of pine resin and hot iron.

Risha stared across the lake to FrattonSeat. The castle
stood solid and forbidding on a promontory, its walls seeming to rise directly from the water, the town spilling like rubble north and south along the shore. Doubts began to scribble through her belly. Would Donnel be pleased to see her? Might he judge her a fool for playing into Goltoy’s hands? She stiffened her spine. At least with the warning she brought she had a chance to redeem herself — and perhaps, as a father, he would be pleased to see her regardless.

‘Do we take the ferry or the road?’ Croft asked.

‘Let’s start with news.’ Nolan nudged his horse forward. ‘Would a disreputable hireling make enquiries on his employer’s behalf?’

Fenn smiled thinly. ‘Only for his own advantage, given his employer supposedly grew up in FrattonSeat.’

‘We heard on the way up there were problems over yonder,’ Nolan said, stretching his vowels into a flat drawl. ‘I’ve a mind to leave her here and call the job done. She’s done nothing but complain the whole damn way.’

‘How far have you come?’ The innkeeper asked, in a neutral tone. Risha turned her head so as to seem to be gazing out the grimy window rather than listening to the conversation at the bar.

‘Saithe, and the sooner I’m back there the better. I like the sun on my skin.’ Nolan took a pull from his tankard. ‘Never been up this way before. Does the ferry save much time over the road?’

‘Half a day. But they don’t carry horses.’

‘I’ve told her she’d be as well selling them, but she says her husband wouldn’t have wanted it. Fat lot that matters, given he’s three weeks in the ground.’

The innkeeper gave a non-committal lift of his chin.

Nolan leant forward conspiratorially. ‘No truth in what they say about widows, at least not this one.’

‘Three weeks widowed, you say?’

The censure in the man’s tone was clear, but Nolan affected not to hear it.

‘Aye. And the young one might as well be deaf and dumb for all the interest she shows.’

Risha felt her cheeks redden. Through the window she could see Croft, one boot hitched on the horse trough, eyes scanning the settlement. Nolan slapped a tankard on the table, making her jump.

‘Cheer yourself on that then.’

She blinked in surprise at his tone but he’d already turned back to the innkeeper. ‘You get good business here?’

‘Good enough.’

The door opened to admit Fenn. She nodded politely to the man behind the bar then stared pointedly at Nolan. He jerked his thumb towards Risha. ‘She ain’t finished.’

Risha pushed the tankard away from her and stood.

Nolan rolled his eyes. ‘Shame to waste good ale.’ As he reached towards it, Fenn spoke sharply.

‘Criff can have it.’

Nolan scowled. ‘Like I said: shame to waste it.’

‘Perhaps you’d tell him.’

Nolan sauntered out with a shrug.

Fenn stretched a hand to Risha’s shoulder.

‘You’ll be pleased to see the back of that one, I’d warrant,’ the innkeeper offered quietly.

Fenn’s mouth tightened. ‘Indeed. At least our other man is better. Is all well in FrattonSeat, sir? I haven’t
had reliable news in some time. I’m not quite sure what we’re going to.’

The man shrugged. ‘The latest has settled, if that’s what you’re meaning. How long for: now there’s a question.’

The door opened and Croft entered with a deferential nod. ‘He said you wanted me?’

Fenn waved towards the tankard, still standing on the table. ‘If you’d like some refreshment before we go on. Take your time. I’m in no great hurry to return to the saddle. Good day, sir,’ she added, nodding politely to the innkeeper.

Nolan was waiting with the horses, and offered a shrug of apology in reply to the look Risha sent him.

‘You must have made a study of degenerate hirelings,’ she said.

‘I’ve known my share. The guard takes all sorts.’

‘I hope it doesn’t keep ones like that.’

‘Better in the guard than free to prey on widows and beautiful young women.’

She blinked at the compliment, so casually delivered. Nolan offered a self-deprecating smile before turning to check her horse’s girth.

When Croft appeared from the tavern he was grinning broadly. ‘Whatever it was you said, you certainly convinced him to take against you,’ he said, as he swung onto his horse. ‘He says to tell you that you’ll get a better price for your horses in FrattonSeat,’ he told Fenn, ‘and that you shouldn’t trust that — ah, something rather more specific than “disreputable” — gutter-crawler any further than you can kick him. Which he strongly advises you do.’

‘I trust the charade enabled you to learn more than that,’ Nolan said sourly.

Croft tilted his head. ‘Lady Margetta is held in high regard. Her advisors are a barnyard of self-serving knaves; the chancellor and commander of the guard are constantly at one another’s throats — only partly because the commander hails from LeMarc rather than Fratton — and the latest uprising was nudged along by forces he wouldn’t be drawn into naming.’

‘And Donnel?’

‘Tolerated as the lady’s protector, but barely.’

Nolan sucked his teeth.

‘Our friend advises trusting no one you’ve known less than a decade, and only a quarter of them. If we’re looking for accommodation he suggests we might try The Red Door in Cobblers Lane. His sister and her husband run it. He said to say Bratho sent us … but under no circumstances should we take that bastard—’ he flicked a thumb at Nolan — ‘with us.’

11

The Red Door

T
he guard at the city’s outer gates eyed them with suspicion. ‘So what brings you to FrattonSeat? Most people are going rather than coming.’

‘My cousin has a job for me,’ Fenn said.

‘Where’s this cousin live?’

‘Cobblers Lane.’

He hooked his thumbs in his belt. ‘Oh aye. Cobbler are you?’

‘She has a tavern, The Red Door.’

An older guard sauntered across. ‘I know it. Garv’s place.’ He eyed them thoughtfully. ‘Business is quiet these days. Wouldn’t have thought they’d be needing extra staff.’

Fenn gave a tired smile. ‘She was thinking to help me out. I’m recently widowed.’

The man flicked an assessing eye over Nolan and Croft. ‘Just the two of you staying on then?’

‘My daughter and myself, yes. Our escorts will be departing as soon as we’re settled.’

‘Long ride back to Saithe,’ Nolan said. ‘Horses’ll need a day or two’s rest.’

‘At your own expense.’ Fenn stiffened her spine and
her tone. Nolan threw her a disgruntled look.

The charade again proved successful in engaging sympathy, at least in the older man. ‘On you go then. Head for Ironmonger’s Gate in the mid-wall; it’s not far from there. And good luck to you.’

The mid-wall, once the outer limit of the town, had over time grown buildings and lean-tos that almost completely disguised it. The gate itself had long since been removed, but the archway above was marked with the symbol of an anvil.

‘There’s something inauspicious about the place,’ Fenn said, as they passed beneath. ‘People keep their eyes to themselves — which doesn’t for one minute stop me feeling we’re being watched.’

Nolan glanced about. ‘We probably are. With the insurrection barely put down, they’ll have no trust of strangers.’

‘If they had any to start with.’

‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘The past two decades would leave a toll.’

At a forge he dismounted to ask directions. The blacksmith’s lad eyed them sideways, his instructions hurried and vague. Nolan swung back into the saddle and led them along streets that should have been busy but were not.

‘Feels like the whole place is in mourning,’ Croft said. ‘If it’s always like this, it would be a dour place to live.’

‘It’s as if all the spirit has been crushed out of it,’ Risha said, wondering whether returning to this could have felt like a victory for Margetta. But at least the jailor of her childhood had been gone, leaving the girl free to rule in her own name.

‘This is the street.’ Nolan’s tone was reserved.

Cobblers Lane was narrow and littered, many of its workshops closed while others looked not far from the same fate.

Croft hissed a breath. ‘Business is a bit slow by the look of it.’

‘A lot of Fratton’s craftsmen were driven out during Somoran’s time. Hundreds resettled in the Otharn foothills south of Othbridge,’ Risha said.

‘You think they’ll come back now Somoran’s gone?’

‘Not with Fratton so unsettled,’ Fenn said, and paused. ‘Whatever that is cooking, it smells plenty better than everything else around here.’

Risha sniffed. ‘Haryam stew. I hadn’t realised I was hungry.’

‘You’ve a good nose,’ Croft said. ‘Me, I can tell it’s likely tasty, nothing more.’

‘With luck we’ll be able to sample it,’ Nolan said. ‘This is the place.’

The paintwork on the door was in need of attention, but someone had recently touched up the sign that swung above it.

Nolan dismounted. ‘I’ll see if they have rooms — without mentioning Bratho. I suggest we drop that charade.’

‘Aye, we’d better,’ Croft said. ‘Else you’d have to find somewhere else to stay.’

Ignoring him, Nolan disappeared inside. He wasn’t long. ‘Two rooms. I’ve asked for a meal as well. Croft, there’s a stable round the back.’ He turned to Risha. ‘I’ll go and scout out the castle. There’ll be news at least, whether or not I find Muir.’

‘Or Emett — as far as I know he’s still here. Would you recognise Margetta?’

Nodding, he swung back into the saddle. ‘Don’t venture out before I get back. We don’t yet know how things stand.’

‘We might get news here,’ Fenn said, bending
backwards
to stretch the kinks from her spine.

‘Be discreet,’ Nolan warned.

Fenn merely looked at him.

The interior of the inn matched its exterior: ageing but with recent attempts to tidy it up that boded well. A heavily bearded man in his middle years stood behind the bar, a genial smile at the ready.

‘You’d be the guests newly booked then?’ He eyed them speculatively. ‘Your man said you’d likely want hot water.’

‘If it’s no great trouble,’ Fenn answered. ‘We’ve been on the road for some days.’

‘Already heating. Do you want to eat before or after?’

Risha’s belly rumbled. The smell that wafted through the hatch was delectable.

‘We’ll clean up first,’ Fenn said. ‘One of our
companions
is seeing to the horses and won’t be long; the other has an errand to run. What say we eat in an hour?’

‘Whenever you’re ready.’ He turned to the hatch in the wall. ‘Dora!’

The woman who appeared was slight, her fading hair arranged in plaited coils, her face careworn and careful. From her proprietorial air they took her to be Bratho’s sister. She led them upstairs.

‘Your menfolk will be in here,’ she said, waving towards
a closed door as she led them to their room. ‘I’ve put you at the rear where it’s quieter. We’ve two other guests in at present, one downstairs, the other in the room across the hall.’

‘Is business good?’ Fenn asked.

‘We do all right.’ She pushed open a window, letting in warm air that carried the faint scent of flowers. ‘You’re above the garden. It’s not much, but it gives me pleasure. You’re welcome to use it if you wish.’

‘Are you Bratho’s sister?’ Risha asked. Fenn shot her a warning glance.

‘You know Bratho?’ Dora had paused in mid-stride.

‘He recommended we try The Red Door.’

‘Bless him. He’s my youngest brother, and a good deal younger than me — I suspect that’s obvious.’ Her newly revealed smile faded. ‘My other two brothers were driven out of Fratton. Bratho hasn’t had it easy.’

‘Things must be better now.’

‘Better than in Somoran’s day, you mean? They are that.’ Her tone was so flat it gave the impression she doubted her own words.

‘With Lady Margetta in charge—’

‘In charge, is it? Not surrounded by that pack of wolves.’ Waving aside further questions — or indiscretions — Dora hurried to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to settle. Garv will bring the water up as soon as it’s heated.’

When Risha sank onto the bed it responded with a protesting creak. ‘By wolves, do you suppose she meant my father’s men or Fratton’s courtiers?’

Fenn shrugged. ‘Hard to know. But they’ve faced more than one uprising, and there was the attempt on Margetta’s life last winter, as well as the bungled
abduction shortly after she returned, both engineered by men who claimed themselves her advisors. You can’t blame the woman for feeling chary.’

Risha sat up. ‘I didn’t know about the attempt on Margetta’s life.’

‘I don’t imagine they wanted it widely known. One of her ladies was killed — died defending her I heard — and several guardsmen with her.’

‘You’re well informed.’

‘Trade shifts gossip as readily as goods.’

Risha wondered whether there was more to it than that. Fenn had known the truth of Risha’s parentage before she’d learned it herself.

‘Every time something like this insurrection occurs, it sets things back. Hard to trust anyone when you’re constantly being shown reasons not to trust at all.’ Fenn glanced out into the corridor before quietly closing the door. ‘At some point LeMarc will have to leave Margetta to manage her own fate. She has the goodwill of the people it seems.’

‘Is that enough to protect her from her own advisors and nobles?’ The parallels between their situations were suddenly stark. ‘Fenn, does it have to be this way, with constant scheming and battles? In my grandmother’s day, was it different?’

‘In Havre it was. Your grandparents were born into a time of stability. Goltoy saw an end to it.’

‘But why? Surely Westlaw should have been enough to satisfy him?’

‘There’s a greed in men that can’t be explained. Some have it, others don’t. I’d guess Goltoy won’t be content till he controls the whole of Elgard, and perhaps not
even then.’ She poured water from the ewer and bent to splash her face and neck. ‘How’s your chest? You’ve been coughing less these last few days.’

It was true. ‘I’m fine.’ Risha stared from the window. ‘I hope Nolan isn’t long. Now that we’re here, I wish we could just …’ She trailed off. Beyond the roofs of the neighbouring buildings she could see the ridgeline of what might have been the capped sentry’s walk atop a wall. ‘Are we far from the castle, do you know?’

‘I don’t.’ Fenn wiped her face and handed Risha a towel. ‘You might want to look a little less like a traveller’s waif when we go visiting.’

Risha dipped her hands in the basin, sunlight from the window turning the water to jewels in her cupped palms. ‘I hope Gorth has explained how it is that we’re here while Lyse and Ciaran are not.’

‘I don’t doubt Nolan hopes so, too.’

She looked up, water dripping from her nose and chin. ‘What do you mean?’

Fenn’s jaw moved as if she was rolling words around inside her mouth. ‘Have you not noticed that he feels it a defeat that you escaped Bray by subterfuge?’ she said at last.

‘But—’

‘Men tend to prefer glory to discretion.’

‘That’s foolishness.’

‘There’d be plenty who’d call that truth, but likely none of them men,’ Fenn answered dryly.

By the time Garv arrived with water for the tub that sat in a curtained corner of the room, Risha had scoured her saddlebags for a comb and tolerably clean, if rumpled,
dress. It was months since she’d seen her father — and he was not her only concern. She soaped her hair, thinking about the last time she’d seen Margetta and Emett: it had been the day they departed for Fratton, well over a year ago now. Would they have become strangers to one another? It was longer yet since she’d seen Muir.

The dress she wore had once been Lyse’s best. She smoothed the skirt ineffectually and ran her fingers through her short hair.

‘Why so jumpy?’ Fenn asked.

‘I’m not sure what it will be like, seeing them all again. So much has happened since.’

‘To you as much as them. Most likely it’ll seem as if no time at all has passed.’

‘Perhaps.’ Though she envied the woman’s prosaic calm, Risha could not find it in herself.

Croft, damp-haired and wearing a clean shirt, was waiting downstairs. Nolan had not yet returned.

‘Give him a chance, lass,’ Croft murmured, answering the look on her face.

‘Will you take your meal now or wait for your friend?’ Garv asked.

Hunger won out, and they were not disappointed.

‘That was delicious,’ Risha told Dora as she cleared their emptied bowls. ‘I haven’t tasted a proper haryam stew for too long.’

The little woman cocked her head. ‘I didn’t take you for a northerner, but you won’t find that dish in the south.’

‘It’s a taste never forgotten. Do you ever add whole wild onions to the sauce?’

‘Not here. I’ve heard Westlarns add onions and all
manner of things. Where are you from?’

Risha hedged. ‘Near Polton, but I left years ago.’

‘And whatever made you do that?’

Risha shrugged. ‘I found work with the traders who visited each year. When they went south, I went with them.’

‘I bet that broke your mammy’s heart,’ Dora said.

‘She’d died years before,’ Risha said truthfully. ‘But there was a woman who looked out for me; I suspect I broke hers a little.’ Doubly so, in that her own departure had led to Emett’s soon after. ‘I hope to see her again before too long,’ Risha added.

Dora’s frown eased. ‘Is that what brings you this way? You’re going home?’

The question drew an answer more truthful than Risha had intended. ‘I’m not sure I know where my home is.’

‘I don’t understand all this travelling folk do,’ Dora said. ‘Well, I suppose I do. Enough decent folk packed up and left Fratton.’

‘During Somoran’s time? Are many returning?’

‘Not enough.’ Dora balanced their empty plates on her forearm. ‘Can I offer you cake to finish?’

‘I never say no to cake,’ Croft assured her.

‘Be careful what you say,’ Fenn muttered, once Dora had retreated to the kitchen. ‘All information has a buyer, especially here.’

Risha glanced around. At the bar Garv was drying tankards while one of their fellow guests ate quietly in the corner. She shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but the best subterfuge is based on truth.’

Croft gave an appreciative grunt.

Fenn frowned. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Barc, I think. Or Timon.’

When Dora set slabs of seed cake and a jug of creamy custard before them, Croft didn’t hesitate.

It was delicious, but after two bites Risha pushed her plate toward Croft. ‘I can’t manage it. You can have mine if you want.’