Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘Sail to the south.’

  ‘South?’ Dastrin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you certain? The convoy should be coming from the north.’

  ‘Aye, Captain,’ came the reply. ‘Two ships. One of them’s in trouble. Broken spar.’

  ‘I suppose we should see what’s occurring.’ Dastrin snapped his fingers. ‘Signal the other ships to investigate. We shall follow. Make ready for battle.’

  Nerika walked past Zastra. ‘I recognise those ships,’ she whispered. ‘They belong to Lord Justyn.’

  ‘Then this is our chance.’ Zastra’s heart began to race. The crew were given their weapons and Zastra gave Jerenik the signal. It was time to take the gamble of their lives.

  Dastrin positioned the Wind of Golmeira at the rear of the line, with the Lodara at the front. How typical of our brave captain, Zastra thought, as she climbed up to her new position at the head of the foremast. Even the damaged Obala was sent on ahead of them. She looked back towards the rear mast. Ceran, one of their co-conspirators, had been stationed there. She didn’t have to worry about him, but the woman at the mainmast could be a problem. She needed watching. The Lodara engaged the enemy, its catapults spewing fire and rocks into the air with great enthusiasm. One of Justyn’s ships was sending piles of burning material towards the Lodara in return. Zastra checked her crossbow. All three bolts were loaded and ready.

  On the deck below, Nerika and her fellow rebels strode towards Dastrin. Jerenik, Ithgol and the rest of their mutineers surrounded the Kyrgs. This was the moment.

  ‘We refuse to fight for the dictator Thorlberd,’ cried Nerika in clear, ringing tones. ‘Dastrin, you are relieved of command.’

  Even from her position high in the foremast, Zastra saw the colour drain from Dastrin’s face. He looked around desperately for Burgal. The Kyrg issued an angry roar and rushed at Nerika, flailing his scythal. Zastra took aim and fired. Burgal collapsed to the floor. Another Kyrg made to follow and Zastra shot a bolt through his foot. He howled in pain as his foot was pinned to the deck.

  ‘Anyone else who moves will be shot,’ said Nerika.

  ‘Shoot her down!’ squawked Dastrin gesticulating wildly towards Zastra. The archer in the mainmast turned her crossbow towards Zastra. Ceran in turn pointed his bow at her.

  ‘Drop it,’ he yelled. The woman looked from one to the other and obeyed, her bow shattering as it hit the deck.

  ‘You’ll never get away with this,’ stammered Dastrin. ‘I’ll have you all put to death.’

  Nerika stepped towards him. There was a flash of metal and Dastrin slumped to the deck.

  ‘Kill all the officers!’ she cried. Zastra’s eyes widened in shock. This was not the plan they had agreed. The crew shifted uneasily and the Kyrgs adopted their fighting crouch. The small band of rebels and mutineers were heavily outnumbered. The situation did not look good. Zastra slid down the backstay and sprang onto the deck.

  ‘Lieutenant Mata!’ she cried. The new lieutenant was staring down at Dastrin’s body in shock. ‘You are now officially captain. Order the Kyrgs to stand down before more blood is shed.’

  The Kyrgs inched forward, aggression rattling in the back of their throats. ‘Hold your positions,’ Mata commanded. The Kyrgs stopped in their tracks, just as Zastra had hoped. Ithgol had been right about Kyrgs and their slavish obedience to the chain of command. Zastra took advantage of the moment of calm.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she cried, jumping up onto the lid of the punishment barrel to address the crew. ‘We have all fought together as friends and crewmates. We do not wish to fight you. But I will not serve a Grand Marl who rules by fear and makes us his slaves. Those ships over there belong to Lord Justyn, who stands against Thorlberd. We can join him. This is your one chance, here and now, to escape from servitude to a murdering tyrant.’

  ‘Who are you to tell us what to do?’ came a distrustful shout from the midst of the crew. She thought of what Dobery had said to her, back in the mountains. You must have the courage to reveal yourself. Zastra filled her lungs, striving hard to keep the fear and doubt from her voice. Everything depended on them believing in her. Trusting her.

  ‘I am Zastra. Daughter of Leodra and Anara, and heir to the throne of Golmeira.’

  A ripple of shock spread across the carpet of heads. ‘I am living proof that Thorlberd’s reach is not yet so powerful.’ She gained confidence as they listened. ‘He tried to kill me and failed. There is still hope. I do not say it will be easy, but here is where we must make our stand. If not for yourselves, then for your children. To fight so they have a future free from oppression and tyranny. Who has the courage to join us?’

  A cheer broke out and spread across the deck. A large chunk of the crew broke away to join the small band gathered behind Zastra. Inexpressively moved, she saw that only about a dozen of the Golmeiran crew had not joined them. They lowered their weapons and surrendered.

  ‘Take them to the forward hold and lock them in. The Kyrgs too. We will release them when we find a safe place to land.’

  ‘These Kyrginite animals do not deserve to live,’ cried Nerika. Several of her comrades nodded in agreement and one of them raised a crossbow.

  ‘Stop!’ Zastra commanded. ‘We will not begin by murdering defenceless prisoners. Especially those who have fought by our sides. Take them below.’

  Ithgol and Jerenik ushered the Kyrgs below before anyone else could protest. Nerika grabbed Zastra’s elbow.

  ‘You’re making a mistake.’

  Zastra shrugged her off.

  ‘Mata, will you take command of the ship? You have the skills and experience.’

  ‘No, Zastra,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the captain now. But I will helm the ship for you.’ Barking out a series of orders, Mata coaxed the crew back to the sails.

  ‘What’s our heading, Captain?’ she sang out, loud enough for the whole crew to hear.

  ‘We will assist Lord Justyn. Attack the Obala.’

  Jerenik appeared carrying a large piece of cloth. He was grinning.

  ‘Time to raise the flag, Captain?’

  Zastra nodded and Jerenik unfurled the cloth. Ithgol had made a fine job of it. The hawk of Golmeira stood proud alongside the eagle of Leodra’s house. Zastra felt her throat catch as the flag was raised up the mainmast and her crew roared with approval.

  The Obala had no idea of the danger coming from the rear. At the front of the line, the Lodara was ablaze, but she continued to fire her catapults. The smaller of Justyn’s ships was mastless and listing badly. Zastra had Jerenik distribute strips of red ribbon for her crew, to tie around their arms to identify themselves. Their bowsprit rammed into the rear quarter of the Obala. Zastra drew her sword and raced to the prow.

  ‘With me!’ she cried, shocked at her own boldness. She leapt for the deck of the Obala. Ithgol and the rest of her crew followed her. Zastra found herself face-to-face with the Obala’s captain, a Southland woman who was wearing an expression of shock. It seemed to be the favoured look of the day.

  ‘Stand down, in the name of Leodra,’ cried Zastra. ‘Any on this ship who oppose Thorlberd, stand with us!’

  The captain drew her sword and laid into Zastra. For some reason that Zastra couldn’t understand they had plenty of room and time to fight. Her opponent was left-handed and had considerable strength and skill. Zastra drew on everything she could remember of her training back at Golmer Castle, but it was not enough and the woman pressed her back towards the taffrail. Zastra had nowhere to go. Parrying another strong thrust she stepped forward and struck the woman hard on the nose with the palm of her hand. Her opponent staggered back. Zastra charged, diving low to avoid a swishing blade, and grabbed the woman’s legs, knocking her off her feet. It was an ugly tactic but effective. Her opponent’s head struck hard against the base of the rearmast. As she lay stunned, Zastra pinned her hand to the deck with her right foot and held her sword against her throat. The Obala’s captain surrendered, blood flowing from her nostrils.

&nb
sp; Zastra stood back, only now realising why they’d had so much space to fight. Everyone else had formed a circle and watched. Ithgol had made use of the distraction to take command of the Kyrgs. The tattoo trick must have worked, fooling the Kyrgs into believing Ithgol to be a high ranking guthan. A grey-haired man dressed in the grey vest and half trousers of a crewman stepped towards her.

  ‘By what right do you use the name of Leodra?’ he asked. She held his gaze.

  ‘I am Zastra. I have every right to use my father’s name.’

  A man in a lieutenant’s uniform barged through the crowd. ‘Who gave you permission to speak, Brindik?’ He shoved the grey-haired man aside. ‘No upstart pretender shall challenge the rule of Grand Marl Thorlberd. Crew of the Obala, with me.’

  ‘I refuse,’ said Brindik. ‘And there’s many like me. Come, my friends – this is our chance.’

  He stepped behind Zastra and drew a pair of knives. About twenty other Obalans shuffled to join him.

  ‘Look around you, Lieutenant,’ Zastra cried. ‘You are outnumbered and the Kyrgs are with us. Do not do anything stupid to get yourself and your crew killed.’ Raising her voice she addressed the remaining Obalans. ‘Anyone who wants to stand against Thorlberd can join us. If you do not feel able to do so, you have my word you will not be harmed as long as you give up your weapons.’

  More men and women emerged from the crowd to stand with Zastra and Brindik. The rest lowered their weapons and were led below, together with their Kyrgs, who obeyed Ithgol without question, even as he led them into a locked cage. Zastra was relieved beyond measure that they had not needed to kill any Golmeirans. Their plan to avoid bloodshed could not have worked better, but there was no time for self-congratulation. The Obala was on a direct heading towards the larger of Lord Justyn’s ships and the angry mob on its deck had no idea that they were on the same side of this fight.

  ‘Nerika!’ she called. ‘Where is Nerika?’

  ‘Here!’ Nerika dashed to the Obala’s prow and waved vigorously, yelling at the other ship. For a moment, it appeared she would not be able to make herself noticed, but then a man pushed through the crowd and returned Nerika’s wave. He was good looking, despite the veins of grey running through his sandy hair. A broad smile of disbelief spread across his face. He shouted something and his crew lowered their weapons. The two ships converged and Nerika climbed across and rushed forward into arms open wide in welcome. Yerdan was poised ready to step across after her. Zastra stopped him with her arm.

  ‘Is that Lord Justyn?’

  Yerdan grinned as if at a secret joke before stepping over. Zastra assessed the situation. Brindik had taken control of the Obala. Over on the Wind of Golmeira Mata was striding around giving instructions to the few members of crew left on board. The Lodara was a floating torch from which men and women were leaping into the sea in a desperate attempt to escape the flames. Zastra walked over to Brindik and waited for him to finish giving orders to two of his crewmates.

  ‘Looks as if you’ve got everything under control here,’ she said. ‘Do you need any help?’

  ‘We could do with more hands. Nearly half of my sailors are locked up below. We don’t really have enough to run the ship.’

  Zastra beckoned Ithgol and Jerenik.

  ‘Take our crew back to the Wind of Golmeira, but leave ten with Brindik. I don’t think we can spare any more or we’ll be shorthanded ourselves. I hope that will be enough?’

  Brindik frowned. ‘It’ll have to do. What’s our next move? You have a plan, I hope?’

  Jerenik grinned. ‘We prefer to make it up as we go.’

  Zastra gave him a frosty glare.

  ‘Um, right, back to Mata,’ he said. ‘Can’t stand here chatting all day.’

  Zastra turned to Brindik. ‘I hate to admit it but Jerenik is right. We just took our chance when we saw it. These ships belong to Lord Justyn. I intend to see if we can come to some arrangement. Will you join me?’

  ‘I’ve enough on trying to organise this lot. They don’t all agree that I belong in charge so I’ll have to knock some heads together. Still, it beats serving a traitor. My son was in your father’s army and was killed the day Thorlberd took power. I will go along with what you decide, Lady Zastra.’

  Zastra nodded curtly.

  ‘Lower some boats to pick up the poor souls from the Lodara before they drown. Offer them the choice to join with us or else be locked up with the others.’

  ‘Right. Not sure how we’ll cope with so many prisoners in our small hold.’

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ Zastra said, although in truth she had no idea how they would deal with that problem. Taking a deep breath she went forward to where the prow of the Obala touched up against Justyn’s ship. Its name, Darkhorse, was engraved into the side. A large shape loomed beside her. She shook her head.

  ‘I thought I told you to go back with Jerenik.’

  Ithgol merely cocked his head towards the Darkhorse and they stepped across together. An old man with a dark blemish across his left cheek fairly skipped across the deck towards her, amazement filling his face.

  ‘Zastra? Can it really be you?’

  ‘Dobery!’ she cried in joyful astonishment.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Kylen scanned the jetty. Castanton had always been a busy port and it was no different now Thorlberd was running things. The most easterly harbour within Golmeira, it was the last stopping point before the Straits of Lodara for vessels making the long voyage to the Far Isles. Two large warships were laid up for repairs, dwarfing the smaller trading vessels. Barquentines from the Far Isles, their hulls painted in bright colours, stood out like spring flowers amongst the dark hulls of the Golmeiran ships. The stone jetty was covered with cargo of all shapes and sizes, being unloaded or taken aboard. The air was heavy and damp, laced with the pungent odours of drying seaweed and rotting fish. They had been able to smell Castanton long before they reached the outskirts of the port. Their journey from Sendor, following the winding route of the Borderline River, had been long and arduous. It was too dangerous to travel via the river itself, constantly patrolled by armed Golmeiran barges, so they had been forced to hack their way through the thick bamboo forest that grew right up to the banks of the mighty river that formed the border between Sendor and Golmeira. As if the bamboo wasn’t enough of an obstacle, the forest floor had been infested with prickly vine weeds, snagging and scratching their skin even through their clothes.

  ‘Come, Hylaz,’ she said. ‘We’ve lost enough time on our pleasant jaunt down the Borderline valley. We need to find a vessel to take us to Murthen Island. Assuming anyone knows where it is.’

  She pulled a cap out of her bag and positioned it carefully on her head.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like a thief and a crook. You’ll fit in very well here, my lady. No one will recognise you.’

  ‘Unless you continue to call me my lady,’ she remarked. ‘Now, put that awful wig on. We don’t want any Sendoran hair on display.’

  Hylaz began to rummage around in his small backpack as Kylen strode towards the jetty.

  ‘Oy. Wait up!’

  Kylen turned in disbelief.

  ‘Oy?’

  ‘Well, you did say I wasn’t to call you my lady.’

  Kylen snapped her fingers to hurry him along.

  ‘Come on. Every moment we delay, Zax might be suffering.’

  They started with the most run-down vessels. Kylen figured their captains would be eager to earn some ready money without asking too many questions. The first boat they tried was owned by the ugliest woman Kylen had ever seen. She had only two teeth, one in her upper gum and one in her lower. Brown and rotten, they ground against each other as she spoke.

  ‘Nah,’ the woman said. ‘Not even if I knew wheres in the stars you wants to go. I can smell a Sendoran, even ones looking like a doxy.’

  Kylen put a warning arm across Hylaz’s broad chest. She looked at the silver chain that had been t
hrust back into her palm.

  ‘You can’t be after more? Unless your cabins are lined with silks and you serve honeyed vizzal each night for supper?’

  The woman showed her gums in what might have been a smile.

  ‘You could offer me five times as much, I’d not take you. Grand Marl Thorlberd ’as said no Sendorans to leave the mainland. It’s my ’ead if theys catch me. An’ I quite like my ’ead.’

  ‘I expect she’s the only one who does,’ muttered Hylaz as they continued down the line of ships, but the answer, although not always so rude, was the same. No one would take them.

  ‘It’s hopeless.’ Kylen flung herself to the ground next to a warehouse. ‘Even if someone was prepared to take us, no one knows where this Murthen Island place is. Or if they do, they aren’t admitting it.’

  Hylaz sat down beside her. Kylen racked her brains, trying to think of a plan. Two drunks, unable to gain entry to a closed tavern, tried to catch her eye, but she ignored them and they shuffled away. A trading vessel pushed off and disappeared around the headland. Night drew in and lamps were lit. The drunks returned and one of them aimed an insult in their direction. Kylen paid no attention, engrossed in watching two fat Golmeiran ships being loaded up. Only a handful of crates had been taken aboard each vessel before the gangways were drawn up. Small cargo for such large trading ships. On the nearest ship, a dark figure in black robes emerged from the shadows of the quarterdeck and into the circle of light cast by a small jula lamp. A mindweaver. As Kylen watched, another black cloak entered the patch of light. Two mindweavers. One of the drunks weaved across her line of sight, blocking her view. Kylen motioned him away. He seemed about to argue, but then the tavern doors opened and he and his partner staggered into its welcoming embrace. Kylen nudged Hylaz, who was snoring gently at her side.