The Dog of the North (3 page)

‘How could I be a true knight? I’m a raider,’ said Eilla, jumping back down from the wall. ‘I’ll see you in the courtyard at midday.’

And with that she scampered back off into the crowd.

It was easy to slip into the Voyne on market day. Arren walked out with some fishermen, always expecting the call of the Guards. But nobody noticed him as he slipped across the
bridge. Soon he found himself in front of The Patient Suitor Inn.

The sign above the inn depicted a dejected-looking suitor staring into the middle distance at a fine lady on a fine horse. Arren thought he looked sullen rather than patient; he wouldn’t
like to be the lady once she’d agreed to marry him. Arren set himself to be equally patient until Eilla should arrive – providing she wasn’t caught. Or did she intend to leave him
there on his own to get into trouble sneaking back into the city? He wouldn’t put it past her. He sat down at a table in the corner of the bustling courtyard.

Precisely as The Patient Suitor’s bell chimed for midday, however, Eilla appeared on the cobbles. He could see that she had been successful in securing her third item of plunder; it would
have been hard to miss: a live cow strolling at the end of a long rope. As the patrons thronging the courtyard eased aside, she led the cow over to the table.

‘Eilla! What have you got?’ said Arren, in mingled awe, bafflement and suspicion.

‘What does it look like to you? In my house we call this a cow. I have three items. I am Queen of the Raiders. My items are better than yours, because they’re bigger.’

‘Where did you get it?’ Arren nodded at the cow.

‘I thought the King of the Raiders had to be intelligent. It was in the cattle pen at the market. I opened the gate, took hold of the rope and walked out. No one stopped me. Now we can
have our feast. Look, an apple, a nice cheese, and a cow.’

Arren folded his arms and sat back. ‘The cow doesn’t count. You can’t eat it.’

Eilla screwed her face up. ‘Of course you can eat a cow. It’s called beef.’

‘You can’t eat it now, stupid. It’s alive.’

‘Well then, what about milk? Find me a pail, and I’ll milk it. Anyway, what have you got?’

Arren brought his items out and laid them on the smooth heavy wood beside Eilla’s. ‘First, a lemon. Rare and very tasty! Next, a crisp fresh loaf. Feel, it’s still warm. Last,
a necklace, with red and blue beads.’

‘Ha! If you can’t eat a cow, you surely can’t eat a necklace. Although I’ll have it anyway: it should go on the neck of the Raider Queen.’

Arren handed it over. At ten years old he had no sweetheart in mind to give it to. The only girls worth playing with were the ones who thought they were boys, like Eilla.

Eilla nonetheless displayed a feminine delicacy in arranging the trophy around her neck. ‘Have you ever eaten a lemon, Arren?’ she asked with a smile.

‘Of course! My father is always bringing home titbits from Lord Thaume’s castle. We’ve had oranges, lemons and limes, redders, all the fruits you could imagine.’

‘And how do lemons and oranges differ?’

‘You really are a stupid girl, Eilla. A lemon is yellow, an orange is orange. And redders are red.’

‘I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten a lemon. Will you show me how?’

‘Of course.’ Arren pulled out his pocket-knife and deftly removed the peel. A little knowledge could go a long way, and the lemon appeared identical in every respect except colour to
the oranges Darrien often bought home. He carefully split the lemon into two equal portions, offering one to Eilla. ‘Here, you just eat it now.’

Eilla weighed the lemon in her hand and looked at Arren. ‘Do you eat it all in one? Or cut it into little pieces?’

‘Oh! Some Raider Queen you are! Look! One mouthful – like this! Uuurgh! Ohhhh! Pah!’

‘Arren! Dear me! Here, have mine too . . .’

By the time they returned to the city, with the cow in tow, and only partly fortified by a lunch of bread, cheese and apple, Arren suspected that trouble waited. Eilla had
hidden the necklace away in her pocket: Arren wondered whether it was worth the whipping Jandille would give her.

Darrien and Jandille waited by the gate. Jandille grabbed Eilla by the hair and hauled her off home for punishment. Darrien said nothing, indicating his wishes with a jerk of his head.

They walked back from the gate to Darrien’s cottage near the East Walls in silence. The crowds were gone. Once home, Ierwen was waiting. Matten sat on a chair, his eyes red. He fidgeted
and shot Arren a reproachful glance.

‘Before I beat you, Arren, have you learned anything from today?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Good. Your wisdom has been earned with pain. I hope you consider it worthwhile. Do you care to share your learning?’

‘Oranges and lemons look alike but taste different. Eilla is cleverer than I. It is as easy to steal a cow as a loaf. You always get caught in the end.’

‘These points are all unarguable. Ierwen, I lack all appetite to beat the lad. You must do it.’

Ierwen gave a sigh and reached for the cane above the fireplace.

1

In the twilight Beauceron’s party made its way along the rough trail leading into the foothills of the Ferrant Mountains, concealed by the scrubby trees on the slope
as they moved upwards. As night fell, he called a halt at a clearing of modest expanse with the mountains at their backs.

In the darkness, Beauceron looked down into the Casalle valley at the blazing stout-coach. The flames, set against the starry sky, would draw attention away from his band, should anyone think to
look up into the woods. His rabbit stew, fresh from the earth-oven, was given savour by mountain herbs, and from the exhilaration of the afternoon’s raid. It was disappointing that Siedra had
not been on the coach, but there were compensations.

He looked across to where Isola and Cosetta were picking at their stew.

‘Eat up, ladies. This is as good as food gets in the wilds. We have the open road ahead and many adventures to come.’

Cosetta looked at the stew with a grimace. Isola said: ‘Our appetites are understandably impaired. We are unclear as to your intentions, but it seems unlikely our wishes will be taken into
account.’

‘I have assured you that your chastity is safe.’

‘You expect me to be grateful that your men have not violated me? I was on the way to my wedding! You have taken my future!’ said Lady Isola, with spots of colour at her cheek.

Beauceron leaned back against a rock. ‘It might be more accurate to say I have substituted one future for another. Your wedding will no doubt proceed, but at a later date. We will take you
back to Mettingloom and ransom you there.’

‘Mettingloom!’ cried Cosetta. ‘You cannot take us all the way into the Northern Reach!’

‘I am returning there myself, with the treasure we have abstracted this afternoon.’

‘Beauceron,’ said Isola with an approach to a smile. ‘Can you not simply take us to Croad? Lord Oricien will pay you a ransom on the spot, and you are spared the inconvenience
of transporting us north, and then all the way back south.’

Beauceron laughed. ‘I prefer to avoid the inconvenience of a noose around my neck. Croad and Mettingloom might not be at war, but I can assure you that if I fell into Oricien’s power
he would hang me. We will skirt Croad to the north, take the mountain pass and secure a ship from Hengis Port. In three weeks we will be in Mettingloom, ready to secure your release.’

Isola dropped her hunk of bread to the ground, her nostrils flaring. ‘Dog!’ she shouted, throwing her stew at Beauceron. ‘You will live to regret treating Lady Isola of Sey in
this fashion.’

Beauceron did not even need to lean aside, so wild was Isola’s aim. He stood up, lifted the empty bowl from the ground, and passed it back to her. Before she could respond, he turned on
his heel and walked away.

Early the next morning the party set off into the mountains. Lady Cosetta remained largely silent throughout the day; Lady Isola set up a steady stream of imprecations, until
Monetto, riding as their escort, threatened to gag her for the remainder of the journey.

On the second day the group rested for lunch in the high mountain pass which led from Lynnoc to the Northern Reach. Down in the valley below them was the city of Croad, compact and secure behind
its walls. The air was becoming chill as they rose from the valley, and both ladies were wrapped in rough cloaks from Beauceron’s store. Lady Cosetta’s cloak had clearly been pierced by
a sword, but if she had misgivings as to the fate of its previous owner she said nothing.

Beauceron settled to his bread and cheese, sitting on one of the flat stones strewn around the rocky pass. While he ate, Lady Isola approached and sat down. Lady Cosetta sidled up a few feet
behind.

‘Gentle Beauceron,’ Isola said with an awkward smile. ‘Can you not let us walk down into the valley to Croad? You already have my dowry.’

Monetto chuckled. Beauceron smilingly shook his head. ‘You are asking me to give money away. I doubt my men would allow me to do so, even if I wished it.’

A sly smile crossed Isola’s face. ‘What if I gave my parole that Oricien would send on my ransom to Mettingloom if you released me now? He is a good and true lord, and would keep his
word.’

‘You are hardly in a position to bind the man who is not yet your husband. I am sure he would find good reason to avoid payment of the debt, or to ransom you at a lower value than I would
set on you. Indeed, how can a man justly value his own betrothed?’

Isola pouted. Her dark eyes glared at Beauceron, who remained impassive. ‘There must be some agreement we can reach consistent with both our dignities.’

‘Perhaps there is, my lady,’ said Beauceron. ‘To assure myself that the ransom would be paid, you would need to leave an item of value.’

‘I have no property except my clothes. You have taken the rest.’

Beauceron nodded. ‘True, true. But what of this? I will let you walk down into Croad, to send your ransom on to Mettingloom: but you must leave Lady Cosetta. She will not be released until
both ransoms are paid.’

‘No!’ cried Cosetta, the cheese falling from her rough wooden plate. ‘You could not do that, Isola!’

Isola was silent. Beauceron looked at her a moment. ‘Well, my lady? Is that “consistent with your dignity”?’

Lady Isola stood up, brushed her skirts. ‘Very well. I am sorry, Cosetta, but better that one of us should reach civilization than neither of us. I will ensure Oricien compiles our ransom
immediately.’

‘Isola! You cannot leave me with these brutes!’

‘Cosetta, it grieves me to leave you. But Beauceron’s men have treated us as well as we could have expected. The circumstances are unfortunate but we must make the best of them. If
Beauceron had offered to release you instead I should not have complained.’

Cosetta sank her head into her hands and sobbed. ‘Please, please . . .’

Isola looked at her a moment and turned to Beauceron. ‘I have eaten, and see no reason to tarry further. With your leave, I will depart immediately.’

Beauceron held up a hand. ‘A moment, my lady. I merely outlined a hypothesis. The situation is unrealistic. I know Oricien of old: he is somewhat parsimonious, and he will not care a fig
for Lady Cosetta’s freedom. I simply wished to see how you would react.’

Isola scrambled to her feet as if to rush at Beauceron. He languidly leaned aside as Monetto dragged her away. ‘Nonetheless,’ he continued, ‘I am grateful for the favourable
characterization of my conduct that you shared with Lady Cosetta.’

Isola continued to struggle with Monetto, her cheeks aflame and her hair hanging loose at her shoulders. ‘Is there nothing that will compel you to release me?’ she spat at
Beauceron.

He shook his head. ‘For reasons I will not bore you with, I bear Lord Oricien considerable ill-will. It may be that allowing him to marry such a shrew is punishment enough; but I am
persuaded he will feel this double blow to his pride and his coffers more strongly. Kindly remount, my lady. We have many miles to cover before nightfall.’

Isola clambered aboard her gallumpher. Cosetta, who had already mounted, turned her back, and the two rode in silence for the remainder of the day.

2

After a journey of ten days, the party arrived at Hengis Port on the western coast of the wide plain known as Jehan’s Steppe. The settlement consisted of a
ramshackle agglomeration of low wooden buildings, hunched against the winds blowing in off the sea. Defences were unnecessary, for there was nothing to attack or to steal. The town was no more than
a stopping place on the sea-road from the Emmenrule to Mettingloom. Beauceron’s men camped outside the town until he could secure passage north. Eventually two rough cogs put in to port and
Beauceron split his party between them.

The sea was grey and the sky a turbid off-white. Isola succumbed to seasickness and remained below deck; Cosetta preferred the fresh air. While the atmosphere was damp on the deck, no doubt it
was preferable to being closeted with a fretful Isola.

On the second afternoon Cosetta approached Beauceron. They leaned against the starboard rail looking back towards the land as the terrain became ever more inhospitable.

‘What can we expect at Mettingloom?’ she asked from under the hood of her oilskin. The sea air had brought colour to her cheeks and she looked, for the first time, a lady of Sey.

Beauceron looked out over the rail. A gull swooped to pluck a fish from beneath the waves. ‘There will be no indignity,’ he said. ‘Matters are normally settled in a few months.
In that time your freedom will be circumscribed to an extent, but you will not be confined. You are ladies of rank.’

‘Who will pay Lady Isola’s ransom?’

‘Why, her father, I should imagine. Lord Sprang is a wealthy man, and I do not propose to set an unreasonable fee.’

Cosetta brushed her hair out of her eyes in the breeze. ‘No one will pay my ransom.’

Beauceron turned to look at her. A gull cried overhead. ‘You are a lady. Surely your family will pay to see you home.’

Cosetta shook her head sadly. ‘My father is Lord Coceillion. You may have heard of him.’