Donnel's Promise

by Mackenzie, Anna

She didn’t deign to answer.

  ‘I thought not.’ He crossed one booted ankle over the other. The horses were grazing in a flowered meadow a little back from the road. ‘The thing is, useful as finding Talben might be, I’m not quite clear how we go about it. Probably easier to find your father.’

  ‘That’s partly the point,’ she said. ‘Goltoy arranged a public wedding as a goad and so far Donnel has responded precisely as Goltoy planned. But once my father learns I’m safe it will change the way he plays his hand — and not to Lyse or Ciaran’s advantage.’

  Croft scratched his neck. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘They may not be my father’s priority, but they’re still mine. I intend to see them both safe, Croft. For that I think Talben is our best hope.’

  ‘It’s a long shot.’

  She didn’t deny it. Hundreds of possibilities seemed held in the hot air.

  From the field she could hear the measured crunch as their horses cropped. A bird sang in the tree above them, stopping abruptly when Croft sighed. ‘Not that that’s ever held you back before. And we have a week, more or less, to figure something out.’

  Two days on, just as the heat of another day began to fade and the wind that had troubled them through the afternoon dropped into stillness, they crossed the border into Havre. They’d ridden hard across the northeast plains, bypassing both Bethanfield and Churton. The southern shore of CaledonWater now lay on their right flank.

  ‘It should feel good being home,’ Webb said.

  ‘Never feels like home to me till I’m south of the El,’ Croft replied.

  Risha said nothing. She was tired. Mica had been skittish throughout the day, baulking at the wind and fighting her heels and hands.

  ‘We should make camp,’ Webb suggested. ‘There’s a spot near the lake that I used coming east.’

  The signs of his last habitation remained. ‘No one’s used it since, by the looks,’ Croft said. ‘Which is probably good.’

  While Croft and Risha tended the horses, Webb disappeared to the shore, returning with four ugly flatfish as broad as her spread hand. Supplemented with potatoes he’d acquired in Deeford and wild sorrel from the verge, they provided a satisfying meal.

  ‘I think we should head a bit inland,’ Croft said, as they ate. ‘Coast road’s too obvious.’

  ‘Never saw a soul till Churton on the way east,’ Webb argued.

  ‘We’re not heading east.’

  In the morning they left the lake to ride south and west. Risha had only once travelled through eastern Havre. It had been her first journey to LeMarc and she’d been little more than a child, ignorant of the politics of the duchies: she’d barely heard Goltoy’s name, and Donnel’s not at all. She’d only newly learned her own.

  ‘Penny for them,’ Croft said.

  She glanced at him. ‘I was only thinking how quickly things change, and how little we really know of what’s going on, even when we’re in the midst of it.’

  ‘That’s true enough.’

  A plump bird lifted with a clatter from the copse that lay ahead. Mica sidled, more in excitement than fright.

  If Muir’s pigeon had reached Caledon safely, Minna would by now have heard from Lillet, and Fenn would perhaps be at Leighton. Risha let her attention settle inside herself. Would Marister Hela have moved Nonno somewhere safe? She sought the worn old face amidst the sea of her thoughts. Once she had it clear and sharp in her mind, she opened her heart and thoughts wide. There was nothing. She turned her attention to Ciaran. Something — a blade — stabbed into her. She cried out. Croft’s hand was on her arm but she shook him off, anger surging through her veins, stiffening her resolve as she threw herself after the thing that had sliced at her. What was it Margetta had said? A feeling as if someone was prying their way into her brain with a needle-thin knife. Kinnoc — that was the name, the scholar Somoran had brought to Fratton to ‘test’ a child. Gathering her fury into a ball, a blade, a lance, Risha hurled it in a screaming flurry after Kinnoc.

  Something flinched and fled from her. Something recognised her. Something cried out.

  Risha was shaking. Croft was holding her arms, holding her in the saddle. ‘My lady, what is it?’

  ‘It’s all right. I have him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The man who hurt Margetta.’ Part of her knew that she must not be making any sense. Her limbs felt weak, as if her bones had dissolved in the effort of hurling her anger outward. ‘Croft, I think we must stop.’

  He cast about. Webb was hovering nearby. At a word he rode off to scout for a place to rest.

  Sweat was beaded across Risha’s face. She wiped it away.

  ‘Was it a vision?’ Croft asked, low, as if the idea of it bothered him.

  ‘No. Something different. Like that, I suppose, but …’

  She had no words. She wiped her mouth and he handed her a flask. The water was lukewarm. Her head had begun to pound. She dropped it into her hands.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by a mule.’

  He gave a grim smile. ‘Did you kick it back?’

  She looked up. ‘I think I did.’

  It didn’t relieve the worry in his face, but he released her arm and leant forward to pick up Mica’s reins. Webb whistled, and they picked their way toward a small copse that stood at the junction of two fields.

  Croft insisted she lie down, tucking her in a bedroll despite the day’s heat. ‘I just need a few minutes,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Take as long as you need.’

  She slept. When she woke she was itchy and hot. She pushed the blanket aside.

  ‘How’s the head?’ Croft asked.

  She placed her fingertips to her forehead. ‘It’s eased.’ She reached for a flask and drank deeply, not able to quench her thirst.

  ‘You’ve had headaches like that before?’

  ‘Once.’ She remembered the siege, and wished for some of the willowbark tea Cantrel had given her.

  ‘You learn anything?’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s someone — I think it’s the man Margetta said tested her — I think he’s searching for me.’

  ‘And he found you? He caused that headache, and whatever came before?’

  ‘The pain, like a blade digging into my brain. But after that I think I hurt him, and doing that caused the headache.’ She chewed her lip, trying to recapture her sense of things. ‘There was someone else aware of me.’

  ‘Ciaran?’ he hazarded.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She thought about the moments when the woman had been a presence in her mind. ‘It’s someone like Ciaran but not. I think it’s Talben.’

  Webb joined them, a couple of fresh rabbits dangling from his hand. ‘Want to camp now or later? I could get a stew going.’

  Croft looked at Risha. ‘It’ll be light for a few hours yet.’

  ‘We’ll go on.’ She pushed upright, reaching for his arm as she wavered. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Neither man looked convinced but they mounted and rode west, making camp at dusk in the lee of an outcrop of cleared boulders piled around a central rib of bedrock. While Webb’s stew simmered Risha dozed, the ache in her temples slowly fading to an all-too-familiar hum of unease. Woodsmoke, drifting to her nose, kept the evening’s insects at bay.

  Webb shook her shoulder when the stew was ready. She ate, and enjoyed it, but couldn’t shake off her exhaustion.

  ‘I’ll take first watch,’ Croft said.

  ‘Who are we watching for Croft?’ she asked, as she stretched out in her bedroll.

  ‘Whoever’s passing,’ he said.

  Scars

  The morning brought an overcast sky. It was almost a relief after the searing days that had gone before. At midmorning the farm track they followed turned onto a broader paved road, without change to the endless vista of ripening wheat. They passed two farm carts and an hour later met a group of riders heading east.

  ‘Road’s too busy,�
� Croft said, and at the next opportunity chose a smaller track which took them back towards the lake. A thunderstorm was gathering on the horizon.

  ‘How far are we from Merren Bay?’ Risha asked.

  ‘Couple of days. We should find shelter before that reaches us,’ Croft said.

  ‘A little rain won’t hurt us.’

  He didn’t answer, but steered them towards the next cluster of buildings that rose on the horizon. A woman gathering in her washing took pity on them, offering shelter in a barn. They were barely within its doors when the downpour arrived.

  ‘Glad we’re not out in that,’ Webb said, settling back against a mound of hay. ‘Might make it a bit hard for Nolan to track us,’ he added.

  ‘He’ll know where we’re heading.’ Croft pulled off a boot and inspected a hole in his sock.

  ‘I could mend that, if you’ve a needle,’ Risha offered.

  ‘Been mending my own socks for years,’ he answered.

  ‘He’s a dab hand,’ Webb confirmed. ‘Think that farmwife would let us stay the night?’

  Croft shook his head. ‘Too risky. Once this passes we’ll head on.’

  Two hours later they were back on the road. Distant rain still smudged the horizon east and south but the sky was lifting to the west. Risha hunched as a tail-end shower skittered overhead, but she shared Croft’s eagerness to move on.

  An hour later Webb spotted a patrol on the road behind. ‘Company.’

  Croft glanced over his shoulder. ‘Militia.’ He adjusted his sword and eased the dagger hidden inside his boot.

  The troop rode past and circled back. There were nine, all wearing the insignia of the Havrean guard, but with a new sigil stitched in black and gold into the quartered flag.

  The men ranged across the road, two circling around behind. Croft sat easy in his saddle and waited for the leader of the group to speak. They didn’t wait long.

  ‘Name and purpose.’

  ‘Criff, escorting the lady to her aunt’s house at Leighton. And yourselves?’

  The man who addressed them had pale, narrow-set eyes and a nose that had been mashed sideways. He stretched his neck like a rooster about to crow. ‘I’m asking the questions. Where have you come from?’ His voice was thin and high. Despite the captain’s tab on his sleeve he had none of the easy confidence of Nolan.

  ‘Fratton. Leastways, Wort and I have. Picked up the lass just near Deeford.’

  ‘You’re from Fratton?’

  Croft shook his head. ‘Went there on a job, back this way on another. Not from anywhere, most of the time.’

  Distaste crossed the man’s face. ‘Vagrants.’

  One of the troop spat on the road. Risha looked hastily away from the hot gaze of another who was eyeing her as if she were a tasty meal at the end of a hard day.

  ‘Honest men both,’ Croft said. ‘We work for our wages.’

  ‘Mercenaries then,’ the captain concluded.

  ‘Or spies,’ the spitter suggested.

  There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘That’s not a fair conclusion,’ Risha said, ignoring Croft’s warning glance. ‘My father paid these men to see me safe to my aunt and that’s what they’re endeavouring to do.’

  The captain studied her. ‘Your father’s name?’

  ‘Marit. He’s a trader.’

  ‘I know Marit.’ The man who spoke had a sparse ginger beard and eyelashes so pale they were almost invisible. ‘Used to set up in my hometown when I was a lad. That’s not where I know you from, though.’ He tilted his head to the side, mouth falling open as he studied her.

  The captain kicked his mount forward, forcing Ginger’s horse to crab sideways. ‘Where are your papers?’

  ‘Papers?’ Croft shook his head in not entirely feigned bewilderment.

  ‘No one enters or leaves Havre without papers. Unless they’re spies.’

  Croft scratched his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that. How long has it been a requirement?’

  ‘Since the traitor Athan died. Lord Vormer has to keep our enemies at bay.’

  ‘Lord—’ Risha bit the words off.

  ‘Seems like we’re a bit out of date,’ Croft said. ‘They didn’t say anything about papers in Deeford, but if you tell me how to get them I’ll be happy to oblige — I’m always saying, there’s regulations for a purpose. But, like I said, we’ve been up to Fratton. I wasn’t expecting to come back this way, but it makes sense to get paid both legs of the journey, see. You can’t blame a man for making a living.’

  ‘You can blame him for telling lies.’ The voice came from one of the men who’d circled behind them. ‘These horses are branded. They’re property of the Havrean guard.’

  The captain looked smug. ‘Which would make you horse thieves or deserters. Which do you choose?’

  ‘Neither,’ Croft asserted stoutly. ‘I bought these horses fair and square in Deeford. You can check with the smith there, he’ll remember me. He saw to the nags we had going up; two of the damn things went lame. Soon as her daddy gave us an advance, I went out to get decent horses. I don’t know nothing about any brands.’ He turned in his saddle and made a point of searching for the offending mark. ‘That there, you mean? That’s a brand, right enough, but there’s no law against buying horses fair and square.’

  ‘It seems we can’t blame you for making a living, nor for failing to have papers, nor for having stolen horses. Anything else you’d like not to be blamed for?’

  ‘We could hang them as deserters and be done with it,’ a voice behind them suggested.

  ‘Not the girl. We’d look after her.’ The words came from the man who’d stared at her. ‘I can think of a few places to take her.’

  The ripple of bawdy laughter opened a pit of dread in Risha’s stomach.

  ‘Be reasonable,’ Croft said. ‘If we were deserters we wouldn’t be riding happy as you like through Havre, would we? Maybe the men who sold the horses to the smith in Deeford were deserters; maybe that’s why they wanted to get shot of ’em. I thought they were cheap at the time; that’d be why.’

  He sounded just the right degree of injured party and weasler.

  ‘You talk a good line,’ the captain said. ‘Which tends me towards the other option.’

  ‘Now, that’s not fair! I can’t win with that argument.’

  ‘No.’ The man leant forward in his saddle. ‘Because I’ve already won. Take their swords. We’ll take them in for questioning.’

  Risha could see Croft weighing the odds in the look that he shot her. They were too high. She shook her head slightly.

  ‘Where will you take us?’ she asked. ‘My aunt—’

  ‘Oh, spare me. Tie their hands.’

  Two of the riders moved in on Croft. ‘All right, all right.’ He held up his left hand. ‘You can have my sword and welcome. Never knew how to use it anyway.’ With a show of awkwardness he pulled it out of its sheath. ‘I tell you, you’re making a mistake.’

  The captain’s eyes narrowed on the blade. ‘And I suppose you got that from the man who sold you the horses.’

  One of the guardsmen reached for it.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Croft said, and spun the hilt in his hand. Blood pumped as the guardsman folded forward around his belly. The backswing caught the second man across the throat. ‘Ride,’ Croft said, as he charged his horse towards the captain, sword swinging.

  Risha jerked Mica’s reins. Unsettled by the sudden shift and the hot smell of blood, the animal baulked. A guardsman lunged towards her, reaching to catch Mica’s bridle. Risha wrenched her sword from its scabbard and swung. The tip of the blade caught his hand. He made a sound like a rabbit caught in a snare.

  She pulled Mica around. Croft was in the thick of the mêlée. Webb was fending off one guardsman when another rode in from behind swinging a cudgel. The blow swept him from his horse with a sickening crunch. A hand closed on her wrist. She cried out as the bones graunched, her half-healed bruises lancing pain up her arm, sword dropping from her hand.<
br />
  Someone grabbed her from behind, an arm tightening around her waist, and she was dragged backwards across Mica’s rump. Unbalanced, the guardsman who held her wrist lost his grip and fell beneath the hooves of the milling horses. Risha was hoisted up and over, the breath crushed from her lungs as she landed, belly down, across the withers of a horse; she could feel the muscles of its shoulders pumping beneath her. A hand closed on her belt and hefted her higher then slid down across her buttocks and slipped between her thighs. Risha squeaked and tried to wriggle away. A man laughed.

  ‘I like ’em eager.’

  The ground stilled and she was shoved sideways, landing with a bruising thump on her back. For a moment all she could see was the hooves stamping near her face, then boots joined them. She tried to roll away but a hand caught her ankle.

  ‘Not so fast, girly. You an’ me got business.’

  He twisted her leg, flipping her onto her back. It was the dark-haired man who’d stared at her. ‘I figure that lot’ll be busy for a while. Thought I’d get in first.’

  She lashed out with her foot. He dropped her ankle and dodged back, a grin spreading across his face. She scrabbled backwards. Her breath was coming in desperate panting gasps. She had to slow her breathing, had to calm down. Her panic wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t think.

  ‘Feisty. That’s good. Adds to the fun. Fight me, girly.’

  Suddenly he was on her, his weight heavy on her chest, pinning her against the rough ground. His hand found her breast, squeezing so hard she cried out, his knee forcing between her thighs. Risha flailed at his head. He gripped her wrists with one hand and clamped his mouth on hers, tongue sliming into her mouth. She bit down hard.

  He reared back. She tried to scrabble from beneath him but his weight pinned her thighs. He stared down at her and wiped his mouth. Blood smeared his lips. ‘Like it rough, do ya?’ He slapped her hard across the face. ‘Me too.’ His hand drew back, fingers curling into a fist. Risha whimpered.

  ‘Don’t mark her up, Fell. Not till we’ve all had a turn. I’d ruther she was pretty.’

  The man looked over his shoulder. ‘You following me, Bodo?’

  ‘Thought I might go second. But don’t mark her up. Not yet.’