Dragons and Destiny

by Candy Rae

  “I didn’t notice,” admitted a guilty Elliot. It had been well drummed into him by both Robain and Philip that his mount was his responsibility.

  “He’s not exactly the friendly type is he?” asked Philip, ignoring Elliot’s red face. “He pretty nigh took a lump out of my backside when I bent down. What do you call him, Biter Incarnate?”

  “Nibbles,” replied an embarrassed Elliot.

  “Nibbles? Nibbles? You called him Nibbles?”

  “One of the nursery cats was called Nibbles,” said Elliot. “He was always scratching and biting at people. I thought it appropriate. We’ve got used to each other, he’s not tried to bite me for days. Sorry Philip, I should have warned you.”

  “No matter, but I think you’d better ride the spare until we get to the Inn.”

  “He can ride Jackass if he wants,” offered James.

  “Thanks but no thanks,” said Elliot, “he’s even more bad-tempered than mine.”

  It took a while to transfer the saddle. It fitted well enough.

  James good naturedly volunteered to lead the pack-mares, it was Elliot’s day for it but he knew the spare mount. The animal had a wicked look in his eye and didn’t seem too happy at the prospect of having a rider on his back. In fact, Elliot had a great deal of difficulty keeping him still enough so that he could tighten the girth.

  Spare was indeed fresh and nippy.

  “What’s that mountain called?” Elliot asked Robain, pointing to the tall pointed peak and the two smaller ones inland.

  “The tall one is called Pointy Peak, not very original I’ll admit, I don’t know what the rounded one to the right is called but the bobbly one is called Dune Mountain, Dunetown, where we’re headed is called after it or maybe it’s the other way round.”

  “Its quite significant looking,” observed Elliot.

  “Yes, sailors use it as a reference point. It marks the beginning of one of the safe channels.”

  They met other travellers. Being the last month of summer the merchant houses were moving goods before the rains. They passed pack trains and the occasional solitary traveller who would call out a cheerful greeting as they passed. Elliot marvelled again at the difference in the people. In Murdoch travellers ignored each other to the point of incivility.

  James rode beside Elliot, chattering away about various topics and commenting on the other travellers (usually after they were out of earshot but not always).

  Philip and Robain rode behind.

  “I’m impressed,” Philip was saying.

  “About what?” Robain roused himself from his contemplation about meeting Hilla’s parents with an effort.

  “Your country.”

  “I’m from the islands,” said Robain, “but I’ve always felt, since I arrived here that this was home. There’s a curious acceptance.”

  “I’ve felt it too,” said Philip, “Murdoch is unsettling even when you’re born and bred there. I don’t envy ‘Walter’ his task ahead. I would not care to be a king.”

  “Uneasy lies the head …” began Robain.

  “… that wears the crown. We’ve got that play at home too. It’s an old one. My father said it arrived with our ancestors but that part of our history is seldom mentioned. No one wants to remember where our ancestors came from. Not the done thing.”

  Robain laughed. “It’s part of our general history syllabus but we won’t hold it against you. Six hundred years is a long time and we are no longer bitter enemies however much we dislike certain aspects of your society. Slavery for instance.”

  “Unfortunate but true,” said Philip. “My family don’t own any slaves, our land in one of the northern duchies, Brentwood and there are very few slaves there. Same goes for the four northerly duchies, Brentwood, Gardiner, Duchesne and Graham.”

  “I didn’t know that,” admitted Robain. “I thought slavery was endemic.”

  “It’s the land itself,” Philip tried to explain. “At home in Brentwood it’s more like here, small farms, tenant farmers, mixed agriculture and forestry. Estates tend to be small and there are many towns and villages. The further south you go it changes, large estates and the ricca and cotton fields, hotter, drier, irrigation systems, especially in Cocteau and van Buren. That’s where the slaves are and in Sahara too, desert, dry as a bone, hell to travel through. That’s where the mines are located and the slaves that work them.”

  “That’s where my mother and sisters will be,” said Robain in a voice devoid of emotion.

  Philip started. “Slaves? They are slaves? How can that be?”

  Robain told him about the pirate raid when he had been fourteen. “I tried to trace them, I know the name of the galley, the Relentless, she didn’t go to any of the other islands; she went straight to Murdoch.”

  “Murdoch, not to the Western or Eastern Isles? They’d have been sent downriver in the slave barges to the markets at Fort,” said Philip, deep compassion in his voice. “The markets were closed down in Brentwood and Gardiner in my grandfather’s day when the emancipation movement began to take hold. Neither Duchesne nor Graham ever had one. I’m very sorry to hear about this, I had no idea.”

  “I don’t mention it,” admitted Robain, “to my shame. I took a vow that day to find them but I never did. There were my brothers to look after.”

  “I understand. I can’t promise but when I get home I’ll see what I can do. There are records I can look up and if all else fails I’ll speak to the Crown-Prince. If I know him at all he’ll make it a royal command that they be traced. Don’t build your hopes. They may still not be alive.”

  “I realise that and thanks Philip, hope however slim, is something I can cling on to. I’d like my mother and sisters to be there when Hilla and I get married.”

  “First you’ve got to meet your future in-laws,” Philip teased.

  “I’m all of a jitter,” confided Robain. “Let’s catch up with the boys shall we? They’re getting a bit ahead.”

  It was a twist of fate. Zilla had decided to go for a ride that afternoon. Now that Rilla had left Lightfoot with her she had found a hitherto unknown pleasure for riding. If he was not ridden on a regular basis, he was apt to be fresh and difficult to control.

  The gelding had become reconciled to his new mistress. Zilla always took her duties seriously and after promising Rilla she would look after Lightfoot, look after him she did. He didn’t get the wild and fast rides Rilla had favoured but he got plenty of exercise and had found, after a few initial ‘try-it-ons’ that Zilla was a capable rider. Her touch was light, her seat good and she forbore from using her heels overmuch, just as Rilla had done.

  On the whole, Lightfoot was content. He trotted along the dirt track on a light but firm rein. When James and Elliot topped the rise, they spied them, a slim, erect figure riding a fine-boned pony.

  “That’s a nice little pony you’ve got here,” the irrepressible James called out to her and was rewarded with a wave. “Which way to the Little Rover Inn?”

  The girl drew rein. She had bright blonde hair tied back in a pony tail and was wearing loose-fitting trousers and tunic.

  She was insufficiently like Hilla for them to see that she was the youngest triplet but Elliot felt a faint stirring of recognition. There was something about the tilt of her nose and the shape of her mouth that reminded him of a person he had met recently.

  “We’re looking for rooms for the night.”

  “It’s just down that way, in the hollow,” Zilla replied. “Actually, I’m just finishing my ride. I can take you there if you want.”

  “Delighted My Lady,” Elliot answered. “I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

  Zilla giggled at being addressed as a lady. “My name is Zilla,” she informed him, “Zilla Talansdochter, my Father is the innkeeper.”

  “Has he rooms available?” asked James.

  Elliot broke in, “you’re Hilla’s sister. Your face rang a bell, even before you told us your name.”

  Zilla’s face broke ou
t into a smile, “you know Hilla? You’ve come from Settlement? That’s wonderful. How is she? Do you know her well?”

  “Yes, yes, well, no,” Elliot answered.

  Zilla laughed. “Sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from her.”

  “There’s a parcel and a letter for you in my pack,” said Elliot. “Robain put it in.”

  “Robain’s here? Leftenant Hallam?” exclaimed Zilla.

  “He’s accompanying us on our travels,” explained Elliot, “and he’s a Captain now.”

  “Travels?” queried Zilla, Robain, parcel and news from Hilla momentarily forgotten.

  “We’re from Murdoch,” interrupted James. “I’m Kellen Cocteau and the individual you are plying with questions is my friend Kellen Merriman, both at your service.”

  “If you’re going to be staying at the Little Rover then it is me who is at your service,” said Zilla with some humour. “There’s four of you,” she added as she spied Robain and Philip top the rise, “the other gentleman?”

  “Baron Ross, our tutor,” James replied.

  “Tutor? He doesn’t look much like an academic.”

  “He’s not exactly,” answered Elliot.

  “I see,” said Zilla but it was clear that she didn’t and was just being polite. “If you’ll come with me?” She turned Lightfoot and led the way down the hill. “How long will you be staying?”

  “The one night I think,” answered James, “unless of course Walter’s horse is as lame as Baron Ross thinks.”

  “If you tell our stableman he’ll get the vet from the village to take a look at him, he’s good; my sister Rilla always said so.”

  “You’re the youngest triplet,” said James.

  “Yes, I’m the youngest,” replied Zilla.

  “And the prettiest,” announced Elliot.

  Zilla blushed a deep rosy red.

  The next morning it was raining.

  “Winter is almost upon us,” observed Robain at breakfast. “We’ll get far more rain from now on.”

  “We should stay here another day,” said Philip, “Nibbles needs a day’s rest anyway and it won’t do the others any harm.”

  “Suits me,” said James.

  Lazybones,” chaffed Elliot.

  “Just looking after myself,” James replied with mock offence. He rose from the table, “so back to bed for a while. Growing boys need a lot of rest. Coming?”

  “No,” answered Elliot, “I think I’ll go out and explore.”

  “Don’t go far,” Philip warned. “Take your sword, remember what happened at Settlement.”

  “I might go as far as the stables. I’ll be careful.”

  Philip looked concerned, “I’ll be down directly myself.”

  “He’ll be okay,” vouchsafed Robain to Elliot’s surprise. The Captain was usually as concerned about Elliot’s safety as Philip. “Go on lad; just keep within the confines of the inn grounds.”

  Elliot explored the inn with interest, unconsciously keeping an eye out for Zilla. Periodically he met various inn-servants who always greeted him with courtesy and asked if he needed anything. Talan, Zanda and Zak he also met and the occasional guest. Eventually he plucked up the courage to ask Zak the probable whereabouts of his sister.

  “I think she’s in the stables,” Zak said, “with Lightfoot.”

  “Rilla’s pony?”

  “Hers now.”

  “Do you think she’d mind if I spoke with her? I met Hilla at Settlement and can give her news.”

  The excuse sounded lame to Elliot but Zak didn’t seem to notice.

  “To see her?” Zak sounded a little surprised, “don’t suppose so. It’s a free world. She often goes down there when it’s raining. With both Rilla and Hilla away I think she’s lonely.”

  “Must be hard for her.”

  “She’s a triplet. I know a bit about what she must be feeling. I’m a twin myself. I missed Zala when she left to get married but it hit Zilla hard when Hilla and Rilla went. Go speak to her by all means; she’ll be glad of the company.

  “Thanks,” Elliot said and after a quick dash up to the room he shared with James (he was sound asleep) to get his duffle jacket he was outside, splashing through the puddles, the stables his goal.

  He found Zilla in Lightfoot’s loosebox. She was talking to him in a soft voice. The pony seemed to be listening to what she had to say.

  “Zilla?”

  She turned and for Elliot it was if time stood still. Her hair was tumbled round her head, like, he couldn’t describe it, her face one of gentle inquiry. In the muted light from the small window above she looked like a dream figure.

  Elliot suppressed a sudden urge to kiss her. This was no royal palace with kitchen and serving wenches there for the taking. They stood facing each other. The air between them was electric in its intensity. Both felt it.

  Zilla had been daydreaming. Lightfoot was a most appreciative listener and he never answered back.

  “Robain is nearly good enough for her,” she had whispered in Lightfoot’s ear just before Elliot had called her name. She had sat up last night in her lonely room and read Hilla’s letter. Was it only a few short months ago since the three of them had laughed and giggled together as they had prepared for bed? The letter had been, as usual, crammed with news, mostly about Robain and it also said that he would be visiting. It also suggested that as the party might also be visiting Vada she should take the opportunity to write direct to Rilla. That letter was in her apron pocket waiting for a moment when she could give it to Robain unseen. Talan still hadn’t forgiven Rilla for what he was still calling her desertion.

  “Hello,” Zilla said, her heart fluttering.

  Elliot was not in any better state.

  “Did you want something?”

  “To see you,” Elliot blurted and wished he’d managed to hold his tongue. Zilla looked startled, confused and embarrassed.

  “Your brother said I would find you here.” There, that was better, his voice sounded more normal. “He told me that you might like some company, perhaps to ask more about Hilla. She was my dinner partner one evening not long ago.”

  “That would be nice,” assented Zilla, a little colour pinking her naturally pale cheeks, “I miss her.”

  “So I understand. So ask away. I’ve only met her twice but the second time was short, she’s only a bit like you, you know, if I didn’t know who you were really in relation.” The Gods, what rubbish am I uttering? “I’d really prefer to talk about you.” Now what made me say that?

  He blundered on, “I might be seeing your sister Rilla if you had any messages for her?” That excuse sounded feeble too.

  Zilla seemed amused, “I’m not very interesting. Hilla is the adventurous one, Rilla too now I suppose. I just stay here and help my parents.”

  “Tell me about it,” he encouraged and when she shook her head, added, “please, I’d like to know.”

  The two of them sat on a hay bale in one of the vacant stalls and Zilla began to talk. She described what she did each day and as she did the real Zilla (the one only her triplet sisters had ever seen before) began to emerge.

  Fascinated, Elliot listened and as the bells passed fell more and more under her thrall. This was no wench to take to his bed and then discard. She might serve in an inn but she was worthy of his respect.

  Unconsciously, he found himself comparing her to what he knew about Isobel and Zilla was coming out on top, every time. Of course, he hadn’t had the chance to talk to Isobel so perhaps it wasn’t fair to compare them but Elliot couldn’t help himself. His attraction to Zilla was growing with alarming speed.

  He began to wish Isobel didn’t exist and that he was free to woo this charming girl. It was impossible, he knew that, if wishes were horses, the poem sprang to mind. He was under a binding contract, sanctified by the church to wed Margravessa Isobel Cocteau and he realised that he could not, did not want to persuade Zilla Talansdochter into a casual dalliance.

  I am fallin
g in love with this girl.

  Zilla was experiencing similar sentiments.

  The rains stopped two days later and Philip pronounced Nibbles as fit as ever.

  The four took their leave of the Little Rover Inn.

  Elliot rode in silence, ignoring all of James’s idle banter. Eventually James gave up and rode up to the position beside Robain who was looking much happier now that he had met Hilla’s parents.

  In his mind’s eye Elliot could see Zilla, that last picture, waving from the door, a brave smile on her face.

  In his right pocket he had her letter to Rilla.

  In his left pocket he had one of her kerchiefs he had filched when she had dropped it the previous evening. It smelt of her, the scent she used, it was all he had of her, all he could ever have of her.

  All that day and the next Elliot’s thoughts were of Zilla Talansdochter. Not one day was to pass during his journeys through Argyll and Vadath but that he thought of her at least once. The old Elliot had derided those who talked about ‘love at first sight’. Never again would he laugh.

  * * * * *

  Isobel

  “I can hardly believe it’s only been seven years,” said Isobel to her sister-in-law Katia turning her head away from the view from the carriage window.

  “What’s that?” asked Katia who was sitting in a half-daze, her arms round her little sister Jill who was sound asleep. It was hot in the carriage and the little girl, tired out with all the excitement had found it impossible to keep her eyes open.

  “It’s only seven years since I made this same journey,” Isobel explained. “I was even younger than Jill, only eight.”

  “Mama didn’t want her to go sooner,” said Katia. “It was Father that persuaded her, that and meeting you. She says two years then Mama wants her home. She’s still not exactly happy about it.”

  “She can go home for holidays,” comforted Isobel, “me and Estelle always did and so did Jessica the first year.”

  “I never met your cousin Jessica,” said Katia.

  “She’s Sister Cynwise now,” Isobel corrected. “She decided to stay. All the girls get the chance. Jessica became a postulant five years ago, I was only ten and frightfully excited about it all. She entered the novitiate two years later. There were four of us,” Isobel’s eyes were dreamy, “cousin Jessica, me, Estelle and a girl called Annette.”