Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

She shook her head. Her thoughts were as scattered as thistledown blown on the wind.

  ‘Westlaw,’ he said thoughtfully, tapping his fingertips together. ‘Westlaw will be your greatest threat. Goltoy, and Quilec as his puppet. You must be wary, Arishara. If you fall into the wrong hands, you will become no more than a pawn in their game. It may be that the future of Elgard relies on that not happening.’

  ‘But—’ She stopped. His talk of politics was beyond her. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘It is close to three decades since I last advised a royal house.’ His tone was as dry as old leaves. He snapped his fingers closed. ‘Havre is not your only option but — no, Havre would be best. It is currently ruled by a council of self-appointed merchants grown accustomed to having things their own way. Some will be loyal to the old line, but you must tread with circumspection.’ He sighed. ‘A pity you are so young. Determining true from false friends will be no simple task.’

  That was a lesson Risha had already learnt.

  The door of the building opened and Meredus levered himself to his feet. ‘Child, I must go. Have you somewhere to stay? Elion is no longer a city safe to wander after dark.’

  Gathering her flurried thoughts, Risha nodded briskly.

  ‘You remind me of your grandmother.’ He wrapped his robes about him. ‘I will think further on this matter. Meet me here at dusk tomorrow, but have a care. The House of Havre has many friends, but the Sitting has spies everywhere. Even here,’ he added, bitterness surfacing in his voice.

  The old scholar’s words turned and twisted in her mind as Risha slipped through the gate. The street beyond was empty. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her hair, she hurried towards Nieve’s. Havre: it did not seem credible. Why had Pelon kept her heritage, even her mother’s name, secret? And what would she do with this new knowledge?

  Come.

  The image of a city unfurled in her mind, its orange-roofed towers shimmering like sunlight on water. Nonno! Risha’s feet slowed. Would she find Nonno in Havre? A thrill of anticipation whispered through her.

  A figure turned from an alley into her path. Risha tensed, but the man hurried by without lifting his head. She quickened her pace. Perhaps Fenn would be able to delay her departure: another day was all she would need. As if thinking of the woman had conjured her, a whistled tune caught Risha’s ear. It was a song Fenn sang as she worked the barge. Risha veered. It could be coincidence, but—

  ‘Risha!’ The hoarse whisper drew her towards an alleyway. ‘Thank the Teeth of Sargath,’ Fenn muttered as she pulled Risha into the clotted shadows. ‘I thought I might never see you again.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘There have been men asking for you. Nieve told them nothing, but one is watching her house. They call themselves spies,’ Fenn added disparagingly. ‘Risha, it’s best we quit Elion tonight. Now.’

  ‘But I can’t; not yet. I have to meet someone tomorrow. I—’

  ‘It’s too big a risk.’ Fenn’s teeth worried at her lip. ‘I was sure we weren’t followed yesterday, but —’

  Guilt kicked in Risha’s belly. ‘There was a man today, at the market.’

  Fenn grunted. ‘As far as I can tell they’ve not yet set a watch on the marina. Come.’

  Risha pulled free of the woman’s hand. ‘I can’t, Fenn.’ She couldn’t put the woman at risk — but nor could she go back to see Meredus and lead trouble to his door. The questions she’d planned to ask him fell like dominoes in her mind. ‘You go. You’ll be safer if I’m not with you.’

  ‘My safety is not my main concern. Take it as a favour I owe Olli: I promised him I’d look out for you. But we need to hurry. The river gate is closed when the watch changes. We haven’t much time.’

  10

  Horsemen

  The marina was dark, the night’s silence broken only by the sibilant lapping of water. Fenn slipped out of the shadows between the warehouses and deftly loosed the ropes that held the barge. A watchman’s light appeared on the river wall. The man paused above the marina, cleared his throat and spat into the water. Once his lantern had bobbed from sight Fenn leapt lightly on deck, water slapping gently as she poled the barge from its berth.

  Keeping a watchful eye on the wall, Risha crept through the shadows that pooled around the silent customs building.

  ‘You there!’

  Risha froze. A guard was standing irresolute on the steps.

  ‘What time is this to be leaving the city?’

  Fenn’s reply was nonchalant. ‘The gate is still open and I’ve been swindled of enough of my coin in this cesspit. Another night and I’ll not be able to pay the lock tolls at Frenton. I’m heading back upriver.’

  The guardsman snorted. ‘Still an odd time to depart. Let’s see your papers — there was a barge stolen not so long ago.’

  ‘Papers, customs clearance, tax stamps. I paid the taxes yesterday. Here.’ Fenn fetched papers from a locker and held them out.

  With a quick glance to either side, the guardsman strode along the jetty and stretched a hand to take Fenn’s bill of passage. He glanced at it then eyed her suspiciously. ‘I’d better take a look around.’

  Fenn beckoned him on board with a sweep of her arm. ‘Be my guest. I’ve nothing to hide.’

  As the man poked around the deck, opening lockers and peering under the tarpaulin that now covered a stack of tanned and rolled hides, Fenn kept up a flow of conversation.

  ‘I don’t know how anyone can afford to live in the city — I’ve never seen such prices. I brought ale and chandler’s wares down from Leighton but the profit covers barely half a backload. Business is tough this season. Mind your head there. The roof’s low.’

  As the guardsman clomped down the narrow steps to the barge’s cabin, Fenn’s hand flicked towards the tarpaulin.

  With her heart jumping erratically, Risha broke free of the shadows. The boat rocked slightly as she sprang on board. Stepping as lightly as she could she hurried to the far side of the tarpaulin and crawled beneath its folds. The boat rocked again and Fenn’s voice came muffled through the decking, the guardsman rumbling something in reply.

  Risha held her breath as Fenn’s voice rose up through the hatch.

  ‘… largely medicinal. It keeps the vapours off the river at bay. You’re welcome to a sample.’

  The guardsman muttered a response and stepped ashore. Risha felt the barge begin to move. Drops of water splattered loud on the canvas above her head as they passed beneath the city wall, then she felt the boat turn into the grip of the current.

  ‘Stay out of sight,’ Fenn said quietly. ‘There’s a watchman on the wall.’

  By the time Fenn called that it was safe to come out, Risha’s limbs were stiff and cramped. ‘Will they follow us?’ she asked.

  Fenn shrugged. ‘If he drinks the arak I gave him, he’ll sleep the rest of the night and have too bad a head when he wakes to trouble himself about anything. If his memory is jogged later, he’ll tell them I was alone and heading for the canal locks on the way back upstream. As far as anyone knows, you’re still in the city.’ Fenn smiled thinly. ‘Now go below and get some sleep while I put some distance between us and Elion.’

  Stretching out on the cabin’s narrow bench, Risha listened to the soothing murmur of the river against the planking by her head. Though she expected not to sleep, her body’s need soon outweighed her troubled thoughts. When she woke it was morning.

  Aided by clear weather and a full moon, they travelled by night as well as day, snatching sleep when they could. By the third dawn Fenn judged them safely away, though she still steered with an eye behind. When a wind rose late that morning they set a small square sail to help them downriver. Risha watched the banks slide past with surprising speed. Fenn had told her it was eight days’ travel to the head of Elswater Sound, though they’d be leaving the river sooner.

  ‘Havre lies on the coast, due south of Elion. Where the El turns east at Whitelaw we’ll leave the river to travel overla
nd. There’s a carrier I know who’ll hire us a mule and cart.’

  ‘What about the barge?’

  Fenn shrugged. ‘I’ll lay it up till I’ve time to take it back up the locks. It’s a slow journey against the current. I’ll see you safe to Havre first.’

  ‘I don’t want to take you out of your way. I—’

  ‘I’ll see you to Havre,’ Fenn repeated.

  Risha settled back against the tarpaulin and let the sun warm her skin. How much did the bargewoman know? And how much could Risha tell her? She badly needed someone to talk to. But … shadowing her inclination to trust the riverwoman lay the memory of Amos. Compressing her lips, she turned her eyes to the land around them. It offered a stark contrast to the alpine terrain of her childhood. On the river’s western bank the country lifted in rolling woodland, while to the east wheat stood golden and rippling to the horizon.

  Risha tried to imagine the manpower it would take to bring in such a vast crop, and then to thresh and mill it. Inevitably her thoughts drifted to the harvest at Torfell.

  The creak of a harness interrupted her reverie and a man’s voice hailed them. ‘Ho, River Maid. I would a word. Pull to.’

  Fenn set her feet wide and her fists on her hips. The road ran close beside the river and the man’s horse kept pace as the current drew them on. ‘The river is running well,’ she called. ‘Who requests that I stop?’

  The man bowed from where he sat in the saddle. ‘As you see, bargewoman, I request it. You’ve led me a chase and I’d as soon it was ended.’ He paused. ‘It will prove worth your while.’

  ‘So I was once told by a brigand who tried to rob me.’ Fenn bent and picked up a stout boathook. ‘I’ve no wish to repeat the experience — though neither has the thief.’

  Her answer nettled him. His clothes were travel-stained and his horse lathered. ‘I’m no thief,’ he snapped, ‘and it is not I who has a troop of soldiers hunting me south along the river. You’d do well to waste no more time.’

  Fenn glanced at Risha and shrugged. ‘How far away are these soldiers?’ she asked, steering them slightly towards the shore. ‘And what makes you think it’s me they hunt?’

  ‘A boat carrying the name River Maid captained by a woman of your description left Elion three nights ago. The guardsman I spoke to was specific.’

  ‘I’ve no quarrel with the Elion guard,’ Fenn said. The barge was out of the main flow of the current, still five feet from the river’s edge, and the rider’s horse stamped impatiently as he held it in check. ‘With you, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Fenn!’ Risha cried.

  Ahead two more horsemen had appeared from a screen of willows. Even as Fenn cursed and poled them back towards the centre of the current, one fired a crossbow. The bolt flew true and smacked into River Maid’s bow, a rope trailing from its tail. Winding it round his saddle horn, the rider pulled it taut. River Maid shuddered and began to slip sideways in the current.

  ‘You’ll sink us, you fool!’ Fenn cried, as the barge pivoted, stern outermost, in the river’s grasp.

  ‘Bring her in,’ the man called. ‘We mean you no harm.’

  Fenn made a scathing sound. ‘Loose the rope and let me turn.’

  The rope slackened a little and Fenn struggled to right the barge. ‘We can’t outrun them with our nose in a noose,’ she muttered, glancing sideways at Risha, ‘but we might yet bluff our way through.’

  Beyond the willows the river curved into a quiet eddy. Fenn nosed the barge close to the shore, the keel grounding with a soft lurch.

  The first rider nudged his horse forward, water splashing beneath its hooves. ‘I apologise for our manner of stopping you,’ he said, waving a hand towards the arrow that had dug deep into the barge’s timbers, ‘and for any damage.’

  Fenn hefted the boathook. ‘I hope your story is a good one.’

  He smiled thinly. His hair hung to his shoulders and curled untidily around a strong, tanned face. Intent brown eyes settled on Risha. ‘Our business is with the Lady Arishara.’

  Thus had Meredus named her. Risha’s stomach tightened.

  ‘The lady who?’ Fenn asked.

  ‘We’ve no time for games. Here.’ Reaching inside his shirt, he pulled out a leather pouch and tossed it to Risha.

  Inside she found a ring. She turned it in her hand. The crest it carried — a ship at harbour flying a quartered flag — was familiar: it matched the brooch she’d found in Pelon’s chest, still nestled within the doll she carried in her pack. But it was more than that which convinced her. As she stared at the ring there was a swift response in her mind — recognition, relief, both overlaid with delight, as if at seeing an old friend. Risha took a step back at the force of it.

  ‘I give you greetings, my lady. As soon as we received word of your whereabouts, we travelled north to meet you, but arrived too late in Caledon. We’re lucky to have caught you now, and before any other.’

  Risha said nothing.

  Fenn glanced at the object she held. ‘A ring carrying the crest of Havre. What of it?’

  A smile flickered across the rider’s face. ‘You do well to protect her, boatwoman, but it is not just any ring. Look more closely.’

  Risha turned the crest so that Fenn might oblige. Like the brooch, it was richly jewelled, the only variation lying in the rendering of the ship. Wound through the gold threads of the rigging was an extra flourish: a C.

  ‘It was the Lady Cattra’s ring,’ the stranger added, ‘and it rightly belongs to her daughter. Our lives are pledged to bringing the lady safe to her home.’

  Risha stood silent, a little dazed by the sudden turn of events. There was a jingle of harness as one of the horses moved restlessly.

  ‘That may be,’ Fenn said, ‘but you’ve been misguided. I am a simple boatwoman and the girl is my cousin’s niece, working passage to Saithe. Your prize — and quite some prize it would be, to find a girl long dead — must be elsewhere.’

  The man’s horse stamped, splashing water in an arc of shining droplets. ‘Your story, no matter how convincingly told, will count for nothing. The soldiers have orders to take you and anyone with you prisoner. If you’re found alone, it at least gains you a chance.’ Raising a hand to forestall Fenn’s reply, he addressed Risha. ‘Lady, I would be honoured if you would consent to travel with us.’

  Risha slipped the ring back inside its pouch. She had no intention of adding Fenn’s life to those already lost on her account, and the stranger was right: if Risha was not with her, Fenn at least stood a chance. ‘Will we reach Havre sooner if we go by road?’

  ‘If you go by river, you will not reach it at all,’ he said wryly.

  Fenn’s hand closed on her arm. ‘Risha, no. We can find a way—’

  ‘We’re both safer this way.’ In her hand, her mother’s ring dug sharply through its thin leather wrapping. ‘I’ll get my things.’

  When she came back on deck the second rider had worked his bolt loose and was coiling its rope between fist and elbow. Risha took Fenn’s hands. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me.’

  ‘I would do it again, and more, to see you safe.’ Fenn’s grip tightened briefly. ‘I was born in Havre, my lady. You have the look of your mother.’

  Risha fought a sudden constriction in her throat. Her mother, so newly discovered, seemed, once again, about to slip from her grasp.

  ‘Lady Arishara, we should hurry.’

  She glanced at the horseman then turned back to Fenn. ‘I’m sorry to have brought the guard upon you.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Besting a few guardsmen should offer good sport.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Take care, Risha. Even with the ring, I don’t fully trust them.’

  With a brisk nod Risha turned. The rider kicked his horse forward so that it stood belly-deep in water beside the barge. ‘I’ve never been on a horse,’ she told him.

  ‘There’ll be time ahead to learn to ride. In the meantime I’ll double you.’ He extended a hand.

  She climbed over
the barge’s rail. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Muir. At your service, my lady.’ The sardonic twist of his mouth reminded her fleetingly of Barc. Catching her forearm in a strong grip, he swung her behind him. Risha clung tight to his waist as the horse splashed in great leaps through the river and lunged up the bank.

  Muir pulled his mount in a tight circle. ‘Good luck, boatwoman,’ he called, before spurring the horse into a canter, his men falling in at either side like the fletches of an arrow.

  11

  A question of loyalty

  By the time they clattered into the yard of an inn, Risha ached all over. Just on sunset they’d crossed the El and passed through a small town, but Muir had urged them on. Her legs refused to support her when he lowered her to the ground.

  ‘She’s done in.’ The man who spoke was named Gorth, Risha recalled. ‘Come on, lass. Let’s get some food into you.’

  Though she tried to eat to please them, she managed little, instead falling asleep with her head pillowed on her arm.

  The next she knew someone was shaking her awake. She groaned as she stretched and squinted into the pale morning light.

  Gorth nodded a greeting. ‘Time we were under way,’ he said. He was older than Muir and the third man, Harl, his hair greying around a face that was deeply lined. He regarded her with sympathy. ‘The saddle takes a little getting used to. Today will likely be the worst.’

  Risha pushed herself up. The platter of food he’d brought cheered her, even if his words did not. Her stomach rumbled. ‘I don’t remember coming to bed.’

  ‘You fell asleep at the table. I carried you up,’ Gorth answered. ‘Make sure you have a good breakfast, but be quick as you can. We’ll be waiting in the yard.’

  As soon as he was gone Risha slid from the bed, groaning anew at the ache in her thighs and knees. Her legs were rubbed raw where they’d hung against the horse’s flanks. Shucking off Lillet’s crumpled and grubby dress, Risha searched in her pack for Geet’s old trousers. She was ravenous, and wolfed a bowl of steaming porridge, two buttery rolls and a mug of warm milk. Tucking an apple and an extra roll into the pocket of her jerkin, she shouldered her pack and went downstairs.