Darkburn Book 4: The Haunt of Ternss by Tayin Machrie - HTML preview

Chapter 4

She ran past the silent carts and under the colonnade, and was two yards from the door when suddenly it opened. Unable to halt in time, she collided with the person in the doorway.

It was not Lord Hapligan. It was his steward, a normally staid man who was now looking as wild and flustered as Meya felt.

“Oh, my lady! I’m so glad to see you. We sent word to Kelvha Castle – but I don’t know if it reached you – the household is to be entirely broken up! My Lord and Lady Hapligan have already left, first thing yesterday morning–”

“What?”

“–because they did not think it safe to stay, and it seems that they were right, for a squad of guards came here a few hours later looking for them, and we had to say we did not know where they had gone, which was no less than the truth–”

“Where is my daughter?” asked Meya. She seemed hardly able to speak, even to breathe.

“My lord and lady urged Flodda to go too, and take Lady Aliya, but she refused. I did not know what you would want, my lady. I did not know what to advise. So they left without her and headed north with speed, but that is all I know of where they went, I told the guards so!” The man was agitated, pulling at his waistcoat distractedly as if trying to tear it to bits.

“But my daughter,” said Meya urgently. “My daughter.”

“She is still here, my lady.”

The ability to breathe returned. “Unharmed? The guards did not ask after her? They did not look for her?”

“Well, my lady... I implied – I let them think that Lady Aliya had gone with my Lord and Lady Hapligan. When the guards marched through the house hunting for my lord and lady, in case I was lying, which I would never do, Flodda kept her in the kitchens and pretended she was her own daughter.” The man began to clench his hands together in unconscious supplication. “I hope we did right. The guards did not seem to be seeking Lady Aliya in particular. They gave orders for the whole household to be dismantled, and the property loaded on the carts and driven to Kelvha City. So we have begun that task. I would have brought the Lady Aliya to the Castle with us.”

“Let me see her,” said Meya, sweeping into the house.

So the low-born nursemaid had pretended Aliya was her daughter! Meya did not know whether to feel more grateful or annoyed. She was grateful, of course. Of course she was. But the cheek of it! Flodda, the daughter of bootmakers in the slums of the northern quarter, to pretend she was Aliya’s mother!

If I am ungrateful, thought Meya as she hurried down the corridor past a litter of crates and packing-boxes, it is because I am afraid. Not particularly of Nerogun’s men. I can deal with them. What I fear most is that Aliya will love Flodda more than she loves me. That she will see Flodda as her truer mother.

Now she was at the door to Aliya’s room. It stood ajar: the room was empty, stripped bare of clothes, of toys, of Aliya’s books, of all her things. Where was her daughter?

“Mama!”

She spun around.

“Mama! Will you tell Flodda I don’t like this dress? I want to wear my proper dress!” Aliya stood in the passage, almost unrecognisable as the child she had last seen two months ago.

“Oh, Aliya!” Relief made her feel faint as she swept her daughter into her arms and hugged her tightly. Aliya hugged her back for a heart-warming second or two before she pulled away.

“And I don’t like my hair,” she said. “It’s horrid. It hurts. Will you tell Flodda to do my proper hair?”

Meya held her daughter at arm’s length to study her. She wore a peasant’s dowdy smock, plain brown and slightly grubby: her hair was tied in two long braids tightly fastened back behind her head. She looked like a scullery maid – a very small one.

“Oh, Ma’am,” said Flodda, who now came scurrying up the passage, “Oh, Ma’am, I did it for the best, believe me. When we heard the soldiers were on their way, ma’am, I was so afraid – I’ve kept her dressed like this and by my side at all times, in my room or in the kitchens, Ma’am, since my Lord and Lady left, for safety’s sake.”

“I hate this dress,” said Aliya with a pout.

Meya felt a swift, heavy wave of emotion; love and exasperation and annoyance. Being a mother was so tiring. Every time she was away from her child she forgot how exhausting it was, and every time she returned, a few minutes with Aliya reminded her. “Aliya,” she said, “you were in danger, not bad danger, but Flodda kept you safe. Say thank you to her.”

“Thank you,” said Aliya, turning round to curtsey to Flodda – which she did very prettily, although the mousy little maid did not even smile. Indeed Flodda looked tense and drawn. A scared mouse. Or perhaps some sort of weasel, Meya thought, in looks if not in character. A little fangol in a pinafore.

“I am very grateful to you, Flodda,” she said formally. “I have come here with some Riders of the Vonn to convey you both to somewhere safer. How long will it take for you to pack?”

“Ma’am, our belongings are gathered, safe in the cold store, if there is someone who can carry them.”

“We can do that.” It was a deeper voice: Ikelder, who now came down the passage with the steward. “My Lady Aliya.” He bowed, and again Aliya dropped a curtsey – this time a more formal and rather over-elaborate one. She must have been practising. Meya felt another surge of slightly exasperated love and pride.

“Then let us be gone as soon as we may,” she said. She took Aliya’s soft, self-willed little hand and led her out, leaving Flodda to direct the Rider about baggage.

The two female Riders still sat inside the carriage. Rothir stood by it, watching the sky.

“Star-gazing?” she said sarcastically, to hide her own flurries of anxiety.

“Something just flew overhead,” he said thoughtfully; “something very high, but not a bird.”

“Ikelder may need help with the luggage,” she said pointedly, and he nodded and strode towards the house.

“He didn’t bow,” said Aliya, turning to watch him.

“Not everybody needs to bow to you,” said Meya as she opened the carriage’s side door. “My Lady Camburé, my Lady Alburé, may I present my daughter.”

Aliya curtseyed, with enormous gravity. And Camburé came unexpectedly to life.

“Well!” she exclaimed. “Lady Aliya! How very enjoyable to meet you. And have you any little friends around your person: any kittens hiding in your hair, or puppies tucked into your pocket?”

“No,” said Aliya, but her dignity was slipping.

“No butterflies resting in your handkerchief? No baby piglets in your bonnet?”

“There wouldn’t be room,” said Aliya, with a giggle in her voice, and then she turned to Meya. “Mama? Can we bring the ducks?”

“No, my dear. There will be ducks where we are going, and other animals too.”

“Ah!” said Camburé. “Ducks don’t like moving house, or rather, moving pond. But at the farm where we will stay, the piglets will be waiting for you, in a squeaking row, their little tails all wagging in delight.”

There was a definite giggle as Aliya was helped into the carriage and wedged herself between the two Vonnish ladies.

“Our ducks here have had seventeen ducklings, and I have given them all names,” Aliya announced. And when Camburé asked what those names were, she began to reel them off. Silly names. She was probably making them up on the spot. What a nonsensical conversation, Meya thought, as she directed the two male Riders and the steward where to stow the bags and boxes in the rear section of the carriage. But at least Camburé’s ridiculous chatter saved her from having to reassure Aliya.

She herself was not given to talking nonsense. Once they had set off again, with the nursemaid Flodda perched atop the baggage in the back, Meya made a point of interjecting through Camburé’s tale of seventeen ducklings and a naughty orange fox.

“Sit straight and still, my dear.” For Aliya was bouncing in her seat.

“Yes, mama.”

“Try not to play with your hair like that.”

“It’s not my proper hair,” Aliya said.

“You have braids like a little milkmaid,” Camburé told her. “Or perhaps a little swine-girl – if only they were curlier, to match your piglet’s tails.”

Aliya giggled some more. Meya was outraged. What was all this talk of pigs in reference to her daughter? It was most unseemly. Not only that; she felt herself undermined by Camburé’s gentle banter. Meanwhile Alburé was almost silent.

Yet Aliya seemed content, and was fully occupied as the carriage trundled away, completely ignoring the disappearance of her previous home and instead demanding to know more about the naughty orange fox; so that Meya had to admit that Huldarion had perhaps chosen Camburé to accompany her with good reason.

I am not a happy-humoured mother, she thought, a little dismally. I have no sense of fun. But her confidence almost instantly reasserted itself: was she not taking the utmost care of her daughter? It was not a sense of fun that enabled her to do so – it was her authority and rank. So she sat back in the seat opposite the others and listened to Camburé and Aliya rattling away as fast as the carriage wheels, exchanging ludicrous ideas about where baby ducks could live and how they could escape a rather stupid and entirely mannerless fox.

Rothir appeared at the carriage window.

“My Lady Meya,” he said tersely, “There is a troop of Kelvhan soldiers up ahead, advancing presently at speed to meet us.”

“So?” she responded, almost as severe as he was himself.

“May I suggest your daughter could be hidden underneath the seat?”

Meya opened her mouth to protest. What could there be to fear from a troop of Kelvhan soldiers? Both her father and her late husband – stalwart commanders within the Kelvhan army – would have been appalled at the idea.

“As a precaution, my lady,” added Rothir.

Meya’s heart began to thud alarmingly. She was suddenly reminded that things in Kelvha were not as they used to be: that everything was moving, changing, and not necessarily for the better: that Melegan and his connections were now all out of favour, and that a squad of guards had already been sent to hunt for his relations – to what ends she was not sure. Although Kelvha and the Vonn were allies she knew that everything was now in flux.

“Aliya,” she said with some urgency, “could you lie underneath that seat, behind the ladies’ skirts?”

“I’m sure a nimble little thing like you will squeeze in there in no time,” said Camburé quite calmly, shifting her heavy skirts aside. Aliya was disconcertingly ready to jump to the floor and wriggle underneath the padded wooden seat.

“While you’re there,” said Camburé, speaking to her skirts as she rearranged them, “I’d like you to decide which is your favourite duckling in the story, and what you think should happen next.”

Meya opened her mouth to protest. What time was this to be talking about ducklings?

But Aliya’s voice said, “Nemalotti!” and Camburé answered, “Yes, she’s my favourite too. Now, think about your story without making any noise, my little piglet. No snuffling, no grunting, no digging for truffles under there.”

There was a small snort and then Aliya was silent.

And now Meya was aware of the thudding of many hooves ahead – and all too soon, around her on all sides – as the carriage drew to a stop.

“What is the matter?” asked Alburé in a loud, clear, haughty voice. “Why have we stopped? Oh! Good afternoon, captain.” For a Kelvhan soldier had appeared at the carriage window; and there were more mounted soldiers on the other side.

“My lady.” The Kelvhan addressed only Meya, not the others.

“Captain,” she said with a smile, because she recognised him – his name escaped her, for he was low-born, but a useful warrior, she knew that much. “My cordial greetings to you and your men. What can I do for you?”

“My lady,” he repeated, and then seemed to hesitate.

“Let me out of this carriage,” said Meya immediately, and although she was perfectly capable of doing it herself she waited for him to open the carriage door and help her out. Rothir stood by, his hand not on his sword hilt but very near it: he sensed danger then, as she did herself. Ikelder stood close to the troop of soldiers, in a more casual posture, although a very still one, like a wound-up spring waiting to be released. She was aware that two or three soldiers had dismounted to peer into the back of the carriage. They ordered the nursemaid out and then ignored her while they turned bags over and looked behind them.

“What is it, Captain?” she asked their leader once she stood before him. He was a tough, wiry man who appeared middle-aged but was younger than his face suggested: a man aged by battle, as her husband had been. He was a combatant, she knew, and not a diplomat.

So, she thought, they have sent an able fighter here to meet me. Why?

No, I know why. More importantly – who sent him?

She motioned imperiously to Rothir to step back a little. With a slight bow, he obeyed.

“Whatever the problem is, you may speak plainly to me,” she told the captain, keeping her voice low and as warm as she knew how. “These Vonn cannot hear us just at the moment. You know, my father General Borovin valued you most highly.” This was likely to be true, and her father had been a hugely respected figure in the army in his heyday; but she wished she could remember the man’s name. A strange name, she knew – but what was it?

“My lady.” He was troubled, she could tell. “My lady, may I ask whence you have come, and what your errand was?”

He knew, of course. So she shook out her skirts, dispelling the creases, as she answered.

“I have just been to the country estate of the Lord and Lady Hapligan; where for almost two years now my daughter – the General’s grand-child – has been housed for her health. I hoped to bring her away with me; but regrettably I was too late.”

“Too late, my lady?” He was watchful.

“Lord and Lady Hapligan had already left, early yesterday, and had taken my child with them. The steward did not know where; they had not told him. That they went north was all he knew – at least, they set out in that direction, but they may have turned aside since then.” She gazed at him fully now, allowing her real anxiety to show. “I am sure my child is safe, but all the same... I know that Lord and Lady Hapligan have recently undergone... misfortune. I imagine that you and your men might be on your way there now, to ensure their safe passage to another area.”

He said nothing. She nodded slowly.

“I understand,” she said. “They departed in a hurry and left many of her things behind. I have them in the carriage. Whatever Lord and Lady Hapligan’s mistake may have been, my five year old daughter could have had no part in it. I trust that when you find them, you will bring her safely back to me.” She took a deep breath and looked at him appealingly. “Aliya was the General’s only grand-child.”

“My lady,” said the captain. She read no friendliness in that deep-etched face, but no hostility either. “May I ask why you have not set out in pursuit of Lord and Lady Hapligan and your daughter?”

“I intend to do so,” she said simply, “as soon as possible. As you can see, I have but two Riders of the Vonn with me: two ladies of the Vonn as my companions: a driver, and a maid. We are hardly equipped for a swift pursuit. But I have no doubt that as soon as I report this situation to the Lord Huldarion of the Vonn he will provide me with as many men as I require.”

The Kelvhan captain looked across at Rothir: an assessing, wary look. Yes, she thought, these Vonn were feared.

Rothir, in his turn, seemed to take the look as a signal to step forward.

“Captain,” he said, his low voice rumbling, “I believe I saw you defeat my companion Aretor – Lord Aretor – in the castle combats.”

“You did, my Lord,” the captain said. “And you were the man who fought the tiger.”

“Indeed.”

“I trust you suffered no lasting injury.”

“Nothing to speak of, I thank you,” said Rothir. The man has no rank beyond his military one, thought Meya in automatic irritation, you need not thank him! Let alone offer him your hand – for that was what Rothir was now doing.

“Rothir,” he said.

“Novesnu,” said the captain, grasping the hand in his own. Of course: that was it, she remembered now. An outlandish name.

Rothir bowed. Too much honour altogether, she thought – but it seemed to do no harm. For when the captain turned back to her, his face had gained decision.

“My Lady Meya,” he said, “I am glad to see you in such capable hands. You need not ask the Lord Huldarion for his assistance. When we find my Lord and Lady Hapligan – as I am sure we shall, wherever they may be – I will vouch for the safety of your child, the late General’s grand-daughter. May I hand you back into your carriage?”

She accepted his hand graciously. While she was stepping in, he had a good look around the carriage’s interior. The two Vonn ladies gazed back at him; Alburé with one eyebrow coolly raised, Camburé with mild indifference.

“Ladies,” he said, with a faint question in his voice, so that Meya immediately felt afraid that he was going to ask them to rise from their seats.

“We appreciate your attendance on us, captain,” said Alburé with lofty dignity. “Lord Huldarion will be most gratified to hear of the respectful interest you take in our well-being; as will my father, his chief counsellor, Lord Solon.” She spoke with such astonishingly quelling superiority that Meya felt that she herself could not have outdone her in aristocratic hauteur.

“Ladies,” he repeated, but this time Meya heard resignation in his tone. He would not dare to risk insulting these high Vonnish gentlewomen by asking them to jump up at his bidding.

“I thank you also, Captain Novesnu,” she said swiftly. “I know that I can trust you, as my father did.”

“Your daughter’s welfare is of great importance to me,” he replied soberly. “I wish her well.” Did his eyes dart towards the seat where Aliya lay hidden? If only the child could remain so still and silent just a minute longer…

“And if you find her, you will send word to me?”

“I will, at once, my lady Meya.”

“Please convey my gratitude to Lord Nerogun.” By this, she hoped to learn if it had indeed been Nerogun, or someone else, who had sent this troop to find her.

But the man’s face betrayed nothing beyond a flicker of the eyelids. “My lady, I bid you a safe journey.”

He withdrew. She heard him exchange words with the other soldiers: they had found some children’s clothing in the bags, but nothing else of note. The little mouselike maid had not been thought worth questioning, beyond a curt demand of who the clothes belonged to? They had not even asked whose maid she was.

Then at a word of command the hoofbeats started up again. Meya listened to their diminishing percussion as the carriage resumed its slow grinding trundle. Nobody within it moved, except that Camburé coughed, and twitched her skirts a little.

Meya felt as if she were frozen in her place. Dared she speak to Aliya yet? Dared she now? Still she sat, through long unchanging moment after moment, until Rothir rode up beside the window.

“They are gone,” he said. Yet she still felt frozen. She knew and did not want to know that they had come to find her child.

“Any little piglets under the seat may come out now,” said Camburé conversationally, as she moved her skirts aside, “and we can talk about those ducklings.”

With a rustling scrabble Aliya emerged from underneath the seat. She looked subdued and downcast. “I don’t want to talk about the ducklings any more,” she said.

“Come and sit my me, my child,” said Meya, and Aliya moved to her side of the carriage. She leaned over and laid her little head on Meya’s bosom and wrapped her arms around her waist. Meya settled her on the seat and stroked her ugly braided hair and held her gently. The thing in all the world most precious to her. She felt dazed, shattered. “You did well, my dear,” she said. Aliya did not answer.

Her most beloved child. This was the moment she had yearned for, had dreamt of for so long: the moment when she should drive away with her daughter clinging to her, the little hands gripped tightly to her cloak; the small warm body snuggling against hers: but not like this, no, not like this at all.