The men were waiting when she stepped into the inn yard, her appearance bringing a sudden lull to their conversation. Muir was first to break the silence. ‘From a distance you’d be taken for a boy in that outfit,’ he said, his voice neutral.
‘So it has proved. Have we far to go?’
‘Three days’ ride, if we don’t meet any trouble.’
She looked with dread at his horse, thinking it trouble enough. ‘Do you expect any?’
Muir’s expression was inscrutable. ‘If you always expect it, you’re never caught unawares.’ Handing her pack to Gorth, who strapped it behind his saddle, Muir swung himself onto his horse then bent to take her hand. ‘Put your left foot on mine and swing your right leg across behind me.’
The day was long and hard, and the one after it. They rode through low hills, avoiding main roads and detouring around towns. Risha wondered at the precaution but said nothing, recalling Meredus’s warning about spies. It wasn’t until late morning of the third day that she began to grow suspicious.
‘Have we far to go?’ she asked, as Muir handed her a waterskin. They had paused to rest the horses in a small copse of trees. A bird, silenced by their arrival, began to sing in the branches.
‘We’ll come within sight of the sea this evening.’
His answers seldom seemed to directly address her questions. As far as she’d been able to tell they’d been travelling mainly east, though Fenn had said Havre lay due south of Elion. Daylight had begun to fade when they topped a rise and Risha found herself staring open-mouthed at a vast expanse of blue that lay stretched beyond the intervening hills like a layer of sky.
‘You’ll not have seen the ocean before,’ Gorth said. ‘You’ll smell it soon: a mix of salt and promise.’
‘Gorth is equally at home on water or land,’ Muir added.
‘I might have been a fisherman like my father but that life steered me otherwise.’
Half an hour later they came within sight of a city. Risha shook Muir’s shoulder. ‘Is that Havre?’
‘Saithe.’
Risha frowned. ‘You said you would take me to Havre.’
Muir made no answer. Her hands around his waist had earlier discovered the hilt of a dagger on his belt, and she was tired of the man’s evasions. Pulling the blade from its sheath, she brought the point against his ribs. ‘Answer me.’
‘Sargath’s teeth!’ Muir swore, pulling the reins sharply so that his horse stamped and reared. Risha slid along the creature’s rump, the knife awkward in her hand as she struggled to cling on. As the horse’s front hooves touched earth, Muir’s fingers clamped hard about her wrist. With a deft twist he dumped her unceremoniously on the ground.
She landed hard but scrambled up, knife raised, as Muir’s feet hit the ground. He tucked his thumbs in his belt. ‘Put up your blade,’ he growled.
‘When you tell me who you are and where you’re taking me.’
‘At present I’m inclined to leave you here to rot. Now drop it or I’ll take it from you.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Do you think I can’t?’
Risha hesitated. Muir took a step forward. Knowing herself beaten, she lowered her arm.
‘What in Sargath’s name is going on?’ Gorth demanded.
Inexplicably, Muir grinned. ‘Our lady is showing us her mettle.’ He reached inside his jerkin then held out his hand. ‘She blooded me.’
Risha stared, shocked. ‘I — I’m sorry. I only meant to make you answer me!’
There was a hoot of laughter from the men on horseback.
‘Is it bad?’ she asked. ‘I must have slipped when the horse reared.’
‘Aye. The blade slipped from my sheath into your hand and pricked me in the ribs.’ Muir wiped his fingers on his shirt. ‘It’s a scratch.’
‘It at least confirms the likeness,’ Gorth said.
‘To a she-cat?’ Muir queried.
‘To her father,’ Gorth answered.
‘My—’
‘Come,’ Muir interrupted, swinging himself back into the saddle. ‘Enough time has been wasted. Lady, Havre is not right now the safest place for you to be. I said I’d get you safe to your home and that is precisely what I am doing. We are riding to Saithe, and from there we take a ship.’
‘To Havre?’ she demanded.
‘You will get to Havre soon enough, but when you do there will be a troop of soldiers at your back.’ He paused a moment, his steady eyes on hers, while his horse sidled restlessly. ‘Do not doubt my loyalty,’ he said.
Holding his eyes, Risha decided to trust him — and not only for want of choice. Stepping forward she held out the dagger, hilt first.
Muir shook his head. ‘Keep it.’ He pulled the sheath from his belt and tossed it to her. ‘Once we’ve time to spare, Gorth might teach you how to use it.’
Reaching a hand he swung her up behind him.
12
The Teeth of Sargath
Risha stared hard at the horizon, willing her stomach to settle as the ship lifted and fell. She had seen nothing of Saithe, having been bundled on board in a sailcloth slung over Gorth’s broad shoulder. They had left the harbour after dark and she’d spent an uneasy night, unaccustomed to the roll of the berth beneath her and troubled by nightmares that fled each time she woke and reached to remember them.
There was land on their eastern flank; dark mountains shaded to purple by distance.
‘Have you eaten?’ Muir asked, coming to stand at her side.
Risha shook her head. The wind made her hair dance around her head and she reached up to capture it.
‘We’ll be at sea two days.’ He studied her. ‘You look pale. The queasiness sometimes eases if you take your mind off it. I’ll ask Gorth to give you that lesson with a knife — as long as you agree in future to reserve its use for your enemies.’ He smiled to take the sting from the words. He looked younger suddenly, well past boyhood but not so far past as he had previously seemed.
‘I’m sorry I cut you,’ she said. ‘Is it really no more than a scratch?’
‘To my pride more than my flesh: I doubt I’ll hear the last of it any time soon.’
As promised, Gorth came to find her and taught her how to hold the knife, with her hand firm but relaxed, and how to balance and move lightly on the balls of her feet — which proved easier without a skirt hampering her legs. Gorth praised her efforts and showed her where she might stand to practise throwing the blade. Risha was delighted when she managed to impale it in the wood, the blade quivering with arrested speed.
‘Mind no one’s loitering on the other side of those timbers,’ Muir called. Her smile seemed to please him.
Muir had been right about the activity taking her mind from her uneasy stomach but, when the second day brought a freshening wind and dark clouds along the southern horizon, Gorth’s brows drew into a worried scowl.
‘We won’t make harbour before it hits us,’ the captain told them. ‘And we risk being driven onto the shoals if the wind shifts to the west. We’re best running ahead of it.’
‘It’ll be rough,’ Gorth said, glancing at Risha.
‘Rougher if we try to fight it.’
As the light faded, wind began to slap ropes and sails, and it wasn’t long before the rolling of the boat sent Risha’s last meal over the side.
‘Go below,’ Gorth told her.
She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ‘I’d rather stay in the fresh air.’
‘The air is going to get a little too fresh, my lady. Follow my advice.’
The sounds of the gale increased as they ran before it, the sea’s rage punctuated by the shouts of men and the straining creak of timber. Risha’s stomach emptied so often she was retching thin green trails of bile. Several times through the night she wondered whether they would drown, but mostly she had no thought for anything beyond her own misery.
It was past dawn when her door creaked open and Harl’s head appeared. ‘Lady?’ he whispered.
Risha opened her eyes. The ship was stil
l pitching but the noise of the wind had dropped.
‘There’s bread and water.’ He placed a jug and platter on the floor beside her. ‘You’ll want nothing more than that yet.’
‘Is it over?’ she croaked.
‘Aye. It’ll be rough a while yet but the worst is done.’
Harl withdrew and Risha rolled upright and drank. She felt wretched, her eyes gritty, her stomach and throat turned inside out. The air of the tiny cabin was fetid. Splashing water on her face, she straightened her clothes and hauled herself up on deck.
The sea around them was a dark, heaving mass. There was no sign of land. The ship was heeled over to one side so that she had to hold the rail to keep her footing. Muir walked lopsided towards her.
‘You’ve survived your first storm at sea then.’
‘And my last, I hope,’ she said fervently.
‘For now, at least. This wind will blow steady for the next day or so.’
‘Then we’ll reach harbour today?’
He shook his head. ‘We had to run north and west before the storm. With it still blowing from the south, it’ll take three days to beat our way back against it.’ Above them the sail strained against the wind held captive within it. Risha’s heart sank. ‘You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten,’ he added.
A wave crashed against the ship’s bow, sending an arc of spray across them. Risha wiped the salt from her lips. She doubted she’d ever feel like eating again but, as the day progressed and her stomach’s memory of the night began to fade, she did begin to feel better. Hungry, even.
Several sets of eyes looked up when she lurched into the galley.
‘You’re looking better,’ Harl observed, and stood so that she might take his place behind the narrow table.
When he set a greasy-looking stew before her she looked at it askance, but soon found herself mopping out the bowl with hunks of stale bread. Little wonder she was hungry: she’d kept nothing down since they’d come on board.
When she’d finished Harl carried a bucket of hot water to her cabin. ‘If you toss your clothes out the door I’ll see that they’re washed.’
She nodded, grateful for his care. The bedding had already been removed and the room smelt, if not fresh, at least better than it had. He handed her a rough towel and soap and pulled the door closed behind him.
Risha changed quickly and returned to the fresher air above. Gorth hailed her from where he stood at the wheel. Along the deck Muir was stripped to the waist, pouring a bucket of seawater over his head. A scabbed line, long as her spread fingers, circled his side.
Gorth saw her expression. ‘He’s suffered worse. It’s not deep.’
‘But I … I’ve never …’ She couldn’t put her feelings into words.
Gorth patted her shoulder. ‘It’s like a storm at sea. The first time is the worst.’
Two days later they came within sight of land. Risha stared in dismay at the arid, sharp-toothed mountains. As they drew closer she picked out signs of life: clusters of fishing boats, scattered coastal settlements, sometimes a smallholding that offered a faint hint of green. To Risha the land looked withered. ‘Is it always so dry?’
Muir shrugged. ‘In winter it’s green. Summer is the hardest season in the south.’ He eyed her curiously. ‘Your hair is changing colour.’
Risha raised a hand, embarrassed. ‘It was a disguise — Lillet said it would wash out.’
‘Your true colour suits you better.’
She ducked her head, uncertain how to greet such a compliment, and was relieved when Gorth joined them.
‘We’ve made good time. We should make harbour early tomorrow.’
‘How do you find your way when you can’t see the land?’ Risha asked.
‘The sun, stars, tides — you get to know the sea just as you might the land. I can teach you navigation, if you like.’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘The sooner I’m back on land the better.’
‘You won’t be alone in your impatience,’ Muir said, walking away before she had time to query the oddness of his phrasing.
When she came on deck the next morning Risha was met by the sight of a harbour town, its dwellings dotting the slope below the imposing walls of a fortress. Pretty as the scene was, she spared it scarcely a glance. To the south of the harbour four massive rocks rose from the sea like the outstretched fingers of a drowned hand. The jagged outline they formed was a shape she’d seen before: it marked the wrapping of the parchment she’d found in her father’s chest. At the time she’d thought it a rough squiggle made by Pelon testing his quill.
‘What’s that?’ Risha asked as Gorth strode past.
He glanced to where her finger pointed. ‘The rocks? This is the Sargath Sea. The rocks mark the entrance to the harbour, and the southernmost reach of Elgard. They’re called the Teeth of Sargath — the crest of LeMarc.’
13
Prisoner of the citadel
As the walls of the fortress closed around them Risha shivered. She’d been pleased enough to step ashore, though it had startled her when her balance seemed as off-centre as it had when she’d first found herself at sea.
‘It’ll pass,’ Gorth assured her, but took her arm as they walked up through the town, curiosity lapping in their wake.
The outer gates of the citadel led into a narrow, stonewalled tunnel. Passing through it Risha felt an irrational longing for the openness of the ocean. A moment later, showered once more in sunlight, the mood passed. She stared around. A fountain played at the centre of the cobbled courtyard, water cascading down sleek-bodied sea creatures carved from mottled stone. Beyond, broad steps of the same grey stone led up to carved wooden doors which swung open as they approached. The man who strode to greet them was tall and angular, his face seamed with age.
‘We’d all but given up hope,’ he said, gripping Gorth’s shoulder.
‘Donnel?’ Gorth asked.
‘Gone north seeking news.’ His deep-set eyes turned to Risha, who straightened beneath their shrewd assessment. ‘Lady Arishara, I bid you welcome. I am Cantrel, seneschal of LeMarc.’
‘I’d best get back to the harbour,’ Gorth said, propelling her forward.
Risha glanced at him in panic.
‘You’ll be fine in Cantrel’s care.’
‘Come, Arishara, I’ll show you your room.’
Trailing the old man into the cool dark of the hall, Risha felt bereft. Each new phase of her journey seemed to strip her of everything — and everyone — she’d newly grown accustomed to. Her answers to Cantrel’s questions about the voyage were terse and he turned instead to a commentary on the rooms they passed. Risha only half-listened. The sheer size of the building overwhelmed her, its displays of weaponry and tapestries, ornate panelling and furniture offering an impression of grandeur grown stiff with disuse.
The chamber he led her to contained a wide canopied bed, a wooden chest and two lushly upholstered chairs. Bars of sunlight fell from the mullioned window across the floor. On the far wall a tapestry showed horsemen in a forest; above the bed another was worked in an intricate geometric design. Risha stood awkwardly in the centre of the room.
‘We’ll talk further once you’re settled,’ Cantrel said. ‘I’ll send Fretha to assist you. You may let her know what you require.’
Risha wondered whether she dared ask for a bath. Her skin itched with dried salt and her hair was stiff with it. Left alone she crossed to the window. It looked out over a courtyard, smaller than the one they’d entered by. Glossy-leaved trees grew in urns around its margins, a wooden lattice providing a partial roof at the far end. In the centre, surrounded by concentric rings of flagged stones, lay a small pond.
According to her father’s history, LeMarc had once been the strongest of the five royal houses, its geographical isolation at times working to its advantage. As she stared at the reflection of light on the pool, a single truth settled uppermost in her mind: in the whole of Elgard there was nowhere that lay further from Tor
fell.
When she turned from the window a woman stood watching her. She was gaunt and square-jawed, old enough to have children grown. Her eyes flicked across Risha’s wind-wild hair and stained dress. ‘Lady Arishara.’ She gave the slightest of nods. ‘Clearly your journey has been trying.’
‘Are you Fretha?’
‘I am. And chatelaine of the citadel. It falls to me to order the lives of those who reside within.’
There was something cool, almost disparaging, in her manner. Risha felt a pang of longing for the easy company of her journey, and, stronger yet, for Ganny.
Her wish for a bath was met. By the time Fretha’s ministrations were complete, Risha’s skin was scrubbed and anointed, her hair tamed into tight coils. The clothes the woman supplied were finer than any Risha had ever owned but she felt restricted within them. It was a relief when Fretha left her, albeit with the promise that she’d soon return.
Risha prowled the room. The door in the far corner opened onto a tightly curving stair. Her guess that it would lead to the courtyard below proved correct; at its foot she was met by sun-warmed air and the heavy scent of blossom. Water trickled from a spout into the central pool. In the patterned shade at the far side of the small courtyard another door was half-hidden by the vines that trailed from the trellised roof. It was locked.
Retracing her steps Risha followed the stair upwards, emerging onto a square roof enclosed behind a waist-high parapet. A slight breeze brought her the smell of the ocean. She leant outwards, straining without success for a glimpse of the sea beyond the angled roofs and the high outer wall of the citadel. Already the voyage seemed distant.
Back in her room, Fretha was waiting. ‘Cantrel requests your company, if you would be kind enough to follow me.’ The woman’s face seemed set in permanent disapproval.
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