Donnel's Promise (17 page)

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.

16

Scars

T
he 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.

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.’

The man, Fell, grinned down at Risha. Blood stained his teeth. ‘Not yet then. Gives us something extra to look forward to.’

Shifting his weight he shoved her skirt up her thighs and reached to loosen his trousers. ‘Better watch how it’s done, Bodo.’

Risha lay passive as he shoved her legs apart, her dagger out of sight beneath the small of her back. As the man lowered himself onto her she brought her arm upwards with all her strength. Her battered wrist screeched a protest as the blade bit and slid sideways.

Fell cursed and pulled back. Risha stared at the knife in her fist, its blade smeared with blood.

‘Bitch.’ Fell dropped his hand to his side. ‘Bitch!’ He drew back his fist.

The blow never came. Fell collapsed on top of her. Risha scrabbled away, kicking and shoving till she was clear of him. Bodo was staring at Fell. Risha crouched, her blade ready. Her torn bodice fell open and she held it closed with one hand. There was a shout from the road. Bodo ignored it, his face stretching in a slow smile. ‘I was happy to go second, but I like the idea of first better.’

Risha turned and ran. She ran blind, heart pumping, knowing it was stupid, knowing it wasted energy. Knowing there was nowhere to go. A hand closed on her shoulder and she spun, flailing blindly through her tears, stumbling painfully to her knees. She’d dropped her knife. How could she have dropped her knife? And … and … there’d been a second blade in Fell’s body. Her stroke had only injured him, she’d missed her target; she’d barely grazed his side, her knife skittering
off a rib. Someone had stabbed him in the back. Bodo? She stared wildly around.

Two men were fighting a few feet away. As she watched, uncomprehending, Bodo stumbled backwards, his attacker driving him to one knee. She couldn’t watch the killing stroke, but heard it. A sob tore up from her belly. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t fight anymore. Closing her eyes against the horror of it, she bowed her head and wished herself back in the mountains, wished herself Pelon’s daughter, wished herself free of both Cattra and Donnel. Or dead.

There was no sound. Risha opened her eyes. A few paces away Muir was doubled over, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, her limbs creaking as if she’d aged decades, Risha pushed herself up. Giving Bodo’s body a wide berth she walked carefully toward Muir. Hands dropping from the hilt of his earthed sword, Muir slowly sank to his knees.

‘Muir?’ She knelt beside him.

Reaching a hand to her neck he snugged her in against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding against the wall of his chest. They stayed motionless like that, until his breath began to ease.

She couldn’t keep the world at bay. ‘Are you all right?’

A sound rumbled low in his chest. His hand moved to cup her head. Leaning back into his palm she looked up at his face.