Donnel's Promise (7 page)

He gave an unsatisfied grunt. ‘The Westlarns knew we were coming, knew even the size of our party: Harbin wouldn’t have been here if he wasn’t certain of what he’d find. My lady.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you trust Ciaran?’

‘I — yes. I think so.’
Trust me
. The words echoed in her head. ‘Surely she wouldn’t have gone with Lyse if—’ If Ciaran was the traitor, Lyse was as good as dead. Worse than dead. Risha shook her head. ‘It can’t be Ciaran.’

‘And Timon?’

She frowned. ‘What has Timon to gain from this?’

The sound he made was noncommittal. ‘Who made the arrangements? Contacted Talben?’

‘I … don’t know. Ciaran told me that Talben had proposed meeting at Bray. You don’t think that he—’

‘I’d trust Talben with my life,’ Nolan said. ‘But you didn’t see the message or the rider?’

Doubt, once allowed, seeped coldly through her. She shook her head.

‘So either a message came confirming Bray for the rendezvous and the details were later passed to Goltoy, or no message came and it was a trap from the outset.’

‘But—’

‘There are ways, Risha. Couriers can be apprehended, messages replaced — either on the way north or the way back. Only one thing is certain.’ He held her eyes. ‘The
traitor must be among those few, either in Havreport or Spire, who knew of your intention to visit Bray.’

She shook her head, as much to clear it as to dispute his reasoning. ‘It could have been coincidence: Goltoy’s men might have waylaid the courier by chance. Ciaran told me there are border raids.’ She knew she was clutching for explanations. If there was a traitor, her first choice was Vormer, but they couldn’t even be certain that he had known of her plans. ‘We need to find Talben,’ she said.

‘Doing so would narrow the options,’ Nolan agreed. ‘But until we have answers, my lady, I don’t believe you are safe in Havreport.’

His words chimed a chord: Muir had said something similar soon after they met, when he and Gorth and Harl had waylaid Fenn’s riverboat. At the time it had been the Elion guard who hunted them.

‘Nor will Lyse and Ciaran be safe if it became known that it is not me Harbin holds,’ she said. ‘May I know what you plan we should do, Captain Nolan?’

There were voices behind them. Croft stood in the doorway flanked by Kahlen and Webb. ‘As you expected, Captain. About six is my guess.’

‘All right,’ Nolan said. ‘To answer your question, my lady, we split up. Webb, once we reach the trees, you ride south. Stay out of sight until you reach the Bracewater, then make for the El. When you get to Whitelaw, send a courier to Athan with the news that our ladies have been taken by Harbin. Just that.’

‘With a change of horses I could ride on myself.’

‘No. We want no news beyond that bare outline reaching the capital — our lady’s true location remains with us, and us alone.’

Webb nodded.

Nolan continued. ‘Harbin’s men will know we’re coming and they’ll be well positioned, but an ambush in the dark can be a difficult proposition.’

Croft grunted acknowledgement. ‘Things can turn right easily. We might send a decoy down the road to help locate them. We’ve a couple of spare horses, thanks to those murdering bastards who met us here. Beg pardon, my lady.’

‘It’s worth a try,’ Nolan agreed. ‘Kahlen, once we’ve dealt with that problem, you and the others take the road for Spire. If Talben received the message to meet us here, he’s either late or he was ambushed. If the former, you may meet him on the road. The latter and you’ll be carrying bad news to his family. Either way, if they have birds, send the same message to Athan; it might reach the city before Webb’s courier.’

He wasn’t confident both men would reach their destinations. A chill of fear passed through Risha as she stared around the small group.

Kahlen spoke. ‘You said “If Talben received the message to meet us here”. You think he didn’t?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘If he is at Spire and attempts a rescue, have we your permission to ride with him?’ The man’s tension was clear in the taut lines of his body.

Nolan hesitated. ‘This was no casual raid, Kahlen. Harbin will have reinforcements waiting at the border. For an assault on Westlaw we’ll need to muster a far larger force.’ He studied his sergeant’s expression, then added, ‘As far as the border, you have my permission as your captain to follow whatever course you think best.’

Kahlen gave a stiff nod.

‘We have an hour before dusk. Croft, you’d best see to that decoy. Webb, check whether Lark and the others have finished burying Bray’s dead. Lady Arishara—’

‘Lady Arishara is departed. I believe my name is Rush.’

‘Rush,’ Nolan said. ‘Find some fabric in the house and do your best to muffle our harness buckles and the like. The less noise we make, the less chance the Westlarns will find us before we find them.’ He turned to go.

‘One other matter, Captain. When we reach Tatton—’

‘We’re not going to Tatton.’

‘You told Ciaran—’

‘I judged it best she did not know our true plans.’

So she couldn’t be made to divulge them? ‘You think—’ She stopped as an image of Harbin’s brute of a captain trying to force information from Ciaran pushed all other thoughts from her head.

‘Right now action will bring better rewards than thought,’ Nolan said. ‘To your task, Guardsman Rush.’

Evening had begun to merge into darkness as they filed from the gates in a tight group, the dead Westlarns tied upright on their horses in a parody of life.

Risha felt a rush of relief when they reached the forest. Even knowing that an ambush lay within, it felt safer to be out of easy view.

Beneath the branches the darkness was almost
complete
. Croft brought his horse alongside, silently directing her south of the road. They rode on through the trees. When Nolan signalled a halt, Risha searched for patterns in the dark, one minute finding none, the next, too many. A sharp shriek made her start, but it marked only the
death of some small forest creature. Mica moved restlessly and Risha ran a soothing hand along the horse’s withers.

There was a sudden thud of hoof beats on the road, shockingly close. Risha’s heart leapt in rhythm. A small flurry of sound followed, then silence. Risha began to ease her crossbow around then changed her mind. Even at close quarters it would be impossible to tell who she was facing.

The column started forward then stopped. She peered into the dark. The trunks of the trees were shadows within shadows. Something detached itself from one and slid towards them. An owl hooted at her right and Risha flinched. The moving shadow hooted a reply, became a man, sidled nearer. It was Croft — a whisper of light slanting between the trees showed the side of his face. He tapped her arm twice, marked a direction, and was gone. Mica’s head lifted and swung left and they were moving again.

She lost all sense of direction as they rode. The noises of the night grew louder, masking the sound of their horses’ hooves on the soft leaf litter. Time became an infinite pool of darkness.

‘Keep close.’ The low voice in her ear, more a breath on her cheek than a sound, made her jump.

She blinked her eyes wide and stared about. Was it a little less dark? Perhaps the moon had risen beyond the thatch of trees. She stared at the rider ahead — Nolan. He ducked and she did the same, not knowing why until the reaching fingers of a branch brushed the length of her back. She fixed her eyes on his outline, ducking when he ducked, swaying when he swayed.

Mica’s rhythmic gait lulled her and her focus wavered,
snapping to pained attention when a branch whacked her face. Nolan half-turned at her cry; she saw the gleam of his face then it was gone as they went on.

When they stopped to make camp Risha slid sleepily from Mica’s back, feet stumbling with tiredness.

‘Get some sleep,’ Nolan said, spreading her bedroll against an upturned tree bole.

She didn’t argue. Wriggling her back snug against the thick trunk she sank into the dark.

She was woken by the smell of food and the sound of low voices. Dappled light filtered into their small clearing. Risha sat up.

‘Morning,’ Nolan said.

A pot was hissing above a small fire, its smoke caught in the cave formed by the upturned roots of the fallen tree and a broad, twisted wedge of its shattered trunk.

Risha scrubbed her face with the heels of her hands. She felt gritty all over and had a thick, bitter taste in her mouth. A quick self-inventory told her that the bruising to her shoulder had settled to a dull, spreading ache, not helped by the roots that rucked the ground beneath her. She winced as she tested the movement of her arm.

‘That’ll have stiffened up, I’d guess,’ Croft said.

‘What will?’ Nolan’s eyes flicked between them.

Risha shrugged and wished she hadn’t. She pushed herself wearily to her feet. She needed to pee. It was only as she walked back to the fire that she registered that the other men were no longer with them. Nolan handed her a mug of steaming tea.

She sipped and burnt her mouth. ‘I don’t remember making camp. Did you see to Mica? I should—’

‘All done. Eat your breakfast.’

She took the bowl of oaty mush he offered. Her last meal had been yesterday at Bray — she supposed it must be yesterday — and that fairly sketchy. She stared around. The trees were wider spaced, broad-leafed, the bright green foliage glowing where bars of sunlight filtered through the high canopy. The air was heavy and still.

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘Since about two hours before we stopped,’ Croft answered dryly. ‘Thought you were going to tumble off once or twice, but you’d sway back upright at the last.’

‘Where are the others?’

‘Halfway to Spire with luck. Time we were moving.’ Nolan began packing their gear.

‘You finish eating,’ Croft said. ‘I’ll saddle the horses.’ He looked as battered as she felt, his left eye bruised to a dark slit, jaw misshapen by swelling.

Risha wiped her face, noting a tender lump on her forehead that had been added during their night ride, and thought with longing of the bath-house they’d visited on their way north.

The woods were less dense than the forests of LeMarc, and busy with life. Birds flashed iridescent blue through the upper branches. One flew low to balance on an arcing cane laced with tight green berries before hopping to the forest floor to inspect a cluster of orange toadstools. When Nolan pulled aside to wait for her, the bird darted hastily skyward.

‘What’s wrong with your shoulder?’ he asked.

‘It’s bruised. From the loft.’ She changed the subject. ‘Nolan, how will we get word to my father? When Athan hears that Ciaran and I have been taken by Westlaw, he’s
bound to send a message to LeMarc. Better my father hears the truth first.’

Nolan looked pained. ‘I confess I hadn’t thought of it.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Getting word to LeMarc is not so easily done. Outside Havreport I doubt there would be many who keep birds homed to the citadel. A courier might go via Saithe and take a ship — I should have had Webb arrange it.’ He dwindled into silence.

‘There would be birds in Caledon.’

‘And as many spies as pigeons.’ He shook his head. ‘Let me think on it. It’s not as if we can do anything from here.’

Except brood. The more Risha dwelt on her father’s likely reaction, the less attention she paid to their
surroundings
. As a consequence it came as a surprise when Mica stopped and Risha, jolted back to the present, found herself at the lip of a scarp that looked across open farmland, drystone walls riding the flanks of the low hills.

‘Think we can risk it?’ Croft asked.

‘Tonight.’

She glanced at Nolan. ‘You think we’ve been
followed?’

‘No. But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.’

Which meant he was less sure of his answer than he wished. ‘What happened exactly, in the trees below Bray? Who were the riders on the road?’

‘Ambush for an ambush.’ His grin held nothing of mirth. ‘Croft and Webb located one of Westlaw’s men, which gave us a sense of where the others might be, so we sent our two Westlarn companions down the road to try to draw them out. Worked.’

‘The dead men you mean? And that’s the end of it?’

‘The end of the immediate problem. Beyond that: who knows.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She repeated the apology she’d made to

Lyse and Ciaran. ‘If I hadn’t insisted on coming north—’

‘Then they’d have come further south. If Goltoy has a spy at court he can second-guess whatever we do. Until we discover who it is.’

‘How do you propose we do that?’

He rolled his head sideways, coaxing a click from his neck. ‘I’m not sure yet. But the best approach is always to work with the advantages you’ve got.’

She raised her brows.

A thin smile flicked across his face. ‘Someone in Havreport is about to receive word that their plan succeeded. That might cause them to get careless, and careless people make mistakes.’

‘But who’s to notice if we’re not there?’

‘The guard is loyal to you, Lady Arishara, not to Havre’s council of burghers.’ She studied his shuttered face. ‘Who do you think the traitor is?’

He was slow to answer. ‘I’d be guessing. Sometimes you have to ask yourself who stands to gain most.’

Risha frowned. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Which doesn’t mean it isn’t a good place to start looking.’

7

Trust

T
he El swept broad and deceptively smooth in front of them. Risha tried to decide whether she’d travelled this section of the river on Fenn’s riverboat, but failed. The farmland they’d crossed during the early hours of the night had rolled unremarkably north and south; nor did the gentle curves of the river’s bank offer any memorable features.

‘We’re somewhere between Finburn and Thursk,’ Nolan said, adding, in response to her frown, ‘About midway between Whitelaw and Elion, several days’ ride either way.’

‘Think we can risk the bridge at Thursk?’ Croft asked.

Nolan nodded and turned his horse upstream. They picked up a cart track an hour later, improving their pace. Late morning they met a shepherd, his flock scattering across the hill as they neared. Risha didn’t blame his wary look or the wide berth he gave them. Nolan had allowed them a brief rest before dawn but she now felt weary beyond measure, and doubted that sleeping rough would have improved their already battered appearance.

The bridge at Thursk brought a pleasant stab of recognition. ‘I’ve been here before. We had to lower our sail to pass beneath.’

It had been a few hours before Donnel’s men had intercepted them. Risha tried to recall Gorth as he had looked that first time they’d met, but it was only Muir’s face that came to mind. It seemed a lifetime ago. She’d been little more than a child, ignorant of who she was in every possible sense.

Nolan must have recognised whatever expression the thought put on her face. ‘These last few years have been hard on you.’

She glanced at him sidelong. ‘I wouldn’t claim them as easy. But harder than life as an unwanted outsider in a village in Westlaw’s northern mountains?’ She shook her head. ‘Confusing, it’s fair to say.’

Nolan’s expression shifted to amused admiration. ‘One day I should like to hear the full story, Guardsman Rush.’

They spent the night in the grain loft of a mill on the eastern side of the River El. Nolan had them saddled up again at first light, but come midday he turned from the road to follow a meandering stream, looking smug when he led them to a broad swimming hole overshadowed by arching willows.

While Nolan lit a fire and Croft scouted the trees, Risha rescued a block of soap from her saddlebag, stripped to her undergarments and plunged in. The morning had been hot, sending itching trails of sweat down her back, but it was still a stretch to describe the shadowed water as anything but chill. She soaped her skin and hair then
waded back to the shallows to rinse out her trousers and shirt. Juddering with cold she towelled herself hastily and tugged Lyse’s best dress over her head. The thin fabric clung to her damp skin.

As she spread her wet clothes over a branch at the top of the bank Nolan strode to the water’s edge, stripped off boots and shirt, and dived in. He spouted a plume of water as he surfaced, reminding her of the giant sea creatures she’d seen on her voyage from LeMarc.

By the time he joined her at the fire, her hair had begun to dry into soft curls, its lack of length still
surprising
as she combed it with her fingers. She felt him staring and looked up. Her cheeks reddened as she realised his eyes rested lower.

‘Forgive me.’ He leant down, his fingers pulling the neck of her dress aside to bare her shoulder, his mouth tight. ‘How, exactly, did this happen?’

Risha’s hand rose involuntarily to cover the bruising. It had blossomed into a full, dark purple that stretched the length of her shoulder and seeped across her upper chest. ‘It’s nothing.’ His fingers, carefully prodding her collarbone, were cool. She flinched from his touch. ‘I was behind the slats when the Westlarn kicked them in. It’s better than it was.’ Her reply sounded feeble, even to her own ears.

Muscles jumped in Nolan’s jaw. Risha cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine. Please don’t make a fuss.’

Without a word he straightened and walked away. She jerked her eyes from his naked back as Croft appeared through the trees.

‘Everything all right?’

She gestured, mute, towards the bruising visible across
her collarbone and left him to work it out. He handed her their blackened pot. ‘Might want to fill that and set it on to boil. Fixings are in my saddlebag.’

‘You should swim, while it heats.’ Her voice was thin.

‘Aye, I’ll do that. Water warm?’

She shook her head and he grinned.

Nolan had pulled on a fresh shirt when she carried the slopping pot back into the small circle of their camp and hung it over the flames.

He finished repacking his saddlebag then crossed to her side. ‘Here.’ He offered her a small crock, sealed with wax. ‘It’ll help with the bruising. I’d have given it to you sooner if I’d known.’

The ointment was thick and smelled of the wild herbs that grew on the arid slopes of the southern Othgard Mountains. She smeared it cautiously across her bruised shoulder.

Nolan shook his head when she handed it back. ‘Keep it. You’re supposed to apply it morning and night. My cousin Minna makes it. She gave me a supply when I took a tumble from a horse I was training last autumn.’

‘You didn’t use it?’

‘I did. Judging by the amount she gave me, she must have assumed it wouldn’t be my only hurt.’ His smile was rueful.

‘Nolan, where are we going?’ The question had been preying on her mind since they’d crossed the river.

‘In the first instance, Minna’s farm in the north downs.’ He held her gaze. ‘Havreport isn’t safe until we discover who betrayed you to Westlaw.’

‘And how will we do that?’

‘We can worry about that once you’re safely in LeMarc.
How we get you there—’

‘Do I have a say in this? Or am I just an item of baggage to be delivered?’ Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but he might at least have consulted her.

He answered stiffly. ‘If my plan is not to your liking, my lady, I can deliver you back to Havreport — though that would likely cost Lyse and Ciaran their lives.’

It was a low blow, and it knocked the breath from her lungs. Nolan turned abruptly and went to ready the horses.

They rode on in silence, their shadows stretching ahead until the sky turned a dark fiery orange above high, pink-bellied cloud, then slept the night in a barn.

Waking to the clank of buckets and the sweet smell of nanny goats brought a rush of warmth to Risha’s chest, quickly lost as Nolan gave thanks to the startled farm daughters and hurried them on.

The countryside they rode through varied between verdant rolling hills and upland plains, the hills supporting livestock — sheep more often than goats — while grain swayed across the flatlands.

Tension prickled between them. By midday Risha was tired of it. When the track they followed widened she kicked Mica forward to ride at Nolan’s side.

‘Captain, have we far to go to our destination?’

‘Another two days.’ He eyed her warily, and when no comment followed her first, ventured a neutral topic. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘Improving. Your cousin’s ointment seems to have helped.’ A sheep grazing the verge raised its head to study them then trotted away. Risha cleared her throat. ‘Our conversation at the river yesterday: I’m sorry if—’

‘The apology is mine. I should have discussed the plan with you sooner.’

‘A mutual apology then.’ She let an easy silence rest between them before broaching her next topic. ‘The north downs lie at the western end of CaledonWater, do they not?’

‘Cupped by the lake and the curve of the El to the north, and running south almost to Whitelaw.’

‘So where are we now?’

‘About a day’s ride from the rise of the El.’

‘At Leighton?’

‘Yes.’ Wariness had crept back into his face.

‘This farm we’re going to: where exactly does it lie?’

‘Exactly? Four miles south of the eastern curve of Merren Bay on the shore of CaledonWater.’

She squinted as she tried to remember Pelon’s maps, but could not recall Merren Bay. ‘I don’t know it,’ she admitted. ‘What town is it near?’

‘None. That’s part of its charm.’

‘If we’re two days from this farm and a day from Leighton …’ She paused, knowing he wouldn’t like it. ‘Might we make a detour? It would give us news, and perhaps allow me to get a message to Lord Donnel.’

‘From Leighton?’

She nodded.

‘It’s a small place. There’s a guardhouse, but it’s unlikely we’d find an aviary with pigeons homed to LeMarc.’

‘A rider then. Or some combination.’

He flicked his reins to dislodge a fly from his horse’s neck. ‘Word should have reached Havreport by now. Which will probably mean a bird has already been sent to Lord Donnel.’

‘With exactly the opposite information to that which he needs to hear.’

He glanced sideways. ‘Why do I feel I’m being managed?’

‘You’re not, Captain Nolan. You’re simply engaging in shared decision-making. It’s not an unworkable system.’

Croft went ahead to scout the town. To pass the time while they waited, Risha answered Nolan’s questions about Torfell and her journey to Caledon with Marit’s traders.

The news Croft brought on his return was
encouraging
. ‘Seems quiet enough. No sign of any Westlarns. Lake docks are busy but nothing out of the ordinary so far as I could tell. There’s a tavern just south of the harbour — far enough from the barracks that we’re unlikely to run into anyone we know — where we could find a meal and listen out for any gossip.’

Risha’s belly rumbled. They’d not eaten since breakfast and the sun was sinking rapidly toward the horizon.

Nolan glanced at her. ‘You won’t pass close scrutiny like that, short hair or no. Have you a dress that will cover the bruising?’

She ducked behind the boulders where they’d rested and shrugged into Lyse’s dress, arranging a shawl around her shoulders. A battered young woman travelling with two similarly battered guardsmen was hardly ideal as a disguise, but it would have to do. Scrubbing her face with a splash of water from her flask, she pushed her ragged hair behind her ears and straightened her shoulders. It was Risha, rather than Guardsman Rush, who rejoined the men.

Nolan looked her over and gave a terse nod. ‘All right. Our aim is not to attract attention. We sit in a corner and
keep our heads down. Any trouble and we get out, no arguments. Understood?’

‘Agreed,’ Risha said pointedly.

Croft’s cough sounded suspiciously as if it might have begun as something else.

As they neared the lakefront, the smallholdings of Leighton’s straggling southern outskirts gave way to workshops and goods sheds. Risha had seen nothing of the town on her visit three years ago. She suppressed a shudder at the memory of being transferred from Olli’s ketch to Fenn’s barge by way of a barrel.

The tavern was a squat, dark building with stables behind. Nolan gave a lad a coin to tend their horses and led them inside. The proprietor looked up as they entered. It was early and there were few patrons: a group of fishermen toasting their day’s work and a couple of singletons who looked as though the drinks they nursed were not their first.

The proprietor took their order and Nolan chose a table against the wall. When the man delivered their meal his eyes lingered on Risha. She pulled her shawl a little higher.

The stew was good, spicy and rich, and they gave it their earnest attention. Croft finished first, spearing the last chunk of fish and pushing his plate aside with a satisfied sigh.

‘Get you anything more?’ The woman was
middle-aged
with broad hips and the signs of a life of hard work and worry etched on her face.

‘That was excellent.’ Croft burped and patted his belly. ‘Just like my ma used to make. Don’t suppose you do an apple tart?’

‘We’ve baked apricots and custard. Three servings?’

Risha shook her head.

‘If it’s as good as that fish, I’ll eat double,’ Croft announced. ‘Best I’ve eaten in months.’

The woman barely acknowledged his flattery, but set another jug of ale on the table with the laden bowls she brought out.

The tavern had begun to fill as they ate. After a few mouthfuls Nolan slid his bowl towards Croft and sauntered to the bar. Risha watched surreptitiously as he struck up a conversation with a couple of newly arrived patrons.

Croft emptied Nolan’s bowl and sighed. ‘A lot better than my ma used to make, actually. She was never much of a cook.’

Risha smiled.

‘How’s the shoulder? Still sore?’

‘Not so bad as it was. Your face still looks a mess.’ The bruising on his jaw had faded to a tattered
yellow-brown
, half-hidden by four days’ growth of beard. It might have been taken for a smear of dirt, were it not for the darkened eye that went with it.

He ran a hand across his bristly cheek. ‘Must have been why she didn’t soften to my charms, eh? I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.’

Risha ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Do you suppose there’s a bath-house anywhere?’

‘There’s the lake, though it’d likely be a bit cold.’

The conversation hit a lull and she glanced towards the bar. Nolan had moved to the edge of a rowdy group of young men where he stood side on, nursing a tankard.