Warrior of Golmeira
Book 4: Tales of Golmeira
By
Marianne Ratcliffe
Warrior of Golmeira copyright © 2018 by Marianne Ratcliffe
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Print ISBN: 9780993400179
Part One: Betrayal
Chapter One
Migala watched as her nanna took her cleaver to the pile of raw meat, hacking off lumps with a savagery that belied her skeletal frame. She used her right arm. Her left was a rounded stump that wobbled with each powerful swipe.
‘These bits and pieces ain’t nearly enough,’ her nanna muttered. ‘The little monsters’ll get savage.’
The girl took each lump of meat and plopped it into a metal bucket by her feet.
‘Ma says they’re born with their teeth snapping, clawing at everything. That’s why birthers like her get paid extra.’
‘Tain’t enough tocrins in the whole of Golmeira for me to take that job.’
‘Like ours is any better.’ Migala pulled a face as she wiped her hands on her bloodstained apron. Her nanna banged the head of her cleaver against the table top to dislodge the globules of bloody flesh.
‘Don’t be complainin’. You’ve food in yer belly, don’t yer? Not everyone can say that these days.’
Migala’s stomach rumbled. Not enough, she thought. Some days she was even tempted to steal some of the scraps they were preparing for the baby migaradons, although she never did. The black ravens would know. They always knew.
‘I wish we could leave,’ she whispered.
‘Hush, child.’ Her nanna glanced nervously towards a female soldier who was heading towards them. ‘Don’t even think such things. Remember what happened to the last folks that talked ’bout leavin’?’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Migala would never forget the bodies left hanging from the castle walls until the flesh rotted away. The soldier snapped her fingers.
‘You there – Marl Rastran wants you in the dungeons. Take your barrow. He has a gift for your precious charges.’
‘Yessir! Right away.’ The old woman bowed low. Migala hated the way her nanna turned into a cringing bag of bones every time a soldier or mindweaver gave her an order. They fetched their wooden barrow, its insides stained with dried blood. Migala led the way to the dungeons with an unusually eager step. A few days ago, her friend Drufyn had boasted about seeing soldiers dragging a yellow-skinned man into the castle. Migala hadn’t believed him. Who’d ever heard of people with yellow skin? But only that morning, Highmaster Strinverl himself had flown into the castle on a full-grown migaradon and headed straight to the dungeons. Not long after his arrival, every last adult migaradon had been released from the breeding grounds, the unsightly beasts filling the sky before flying off in the direction of Golmer Castle. Something was up, and Migala reckoned the answer lay in the dungeons.
A metal ramp placed over the dungeon steps allowed them to roll the barrow down. The soldier led them to an open cell.
‘He’s my prisoner, Strinverl,’ drawled a handsome, dark-haired man. Migala recognised him on sight. Everybody knew Marl Rastran. They also knew to stay out of his way if they could. Nanna bowed so low her forehead nearly hit her knees and Migala quickly followed suit. She took in Rastran’s highly polished boots and his velvet tunic, so new it glistened in the lamplight. The gemstone-encrusted dagger in his belt and his flashing rings would raise enough money to feed everyone in the castle and surrounding villages for a month. She didn’t dare look at his face. Drufyn swore that Marl Rastran could kill you with a look. With him was Highmaster Strinverl, so tall and skinny that his black robes hung from him as if they’d been flung carelessly over a hat stand. Chained to the wall was a short man with bloodshot eyes. His skin was pale yellow. Migala clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself squealing out loud.
‘Your servants are getting younger, Rastran,’ Strinverl remarked. Migala shuddered as she felt his eyes crawl across her skin like a long-legged insect.
‘Children have no defence against mindweaving, so I can be assured of their absolute loyalty.’ Rastran stroked his chin and smiled. ‘What other reason could there be for preferring such servants?’
‘What’s yer pleasure, my lord?’ Nanna asked. Rastran nudged the yellow-skinned man with the tip of his gleaming boot.
‘Feed this one to your charges. It is time they got a taste for live flesh.’
The prisoner twisted in his chains, his eyes widening in terror.
‘I demand to probe him first,’ Strinverl protested. ‘Your father—’
Rastran cleared his throat.
‘What’s so important about this Aliterran that it brings the highmaster of mindweavers himself from the comforts of Golmer Castle?’
‘I came to recall you to Golmer Castle. Your father has at last found something useful for you to do.’
‘You expect me to believe it is mere coincidence that you arrive a few days after I capture this spy? And then steal my migaradons into the bargain?’
Strinverl gave a mirthless smile. ‘I am forbidden to disclose the grand marl’s plans. Any attempt to read my mind would be considered treason.’
‘I know my father sent spies to Aliterra. What does he want with such a backward country?’
Strinverl flapped his hand in the air. ‘I demand you leave while I interrogate this man.’
Rastran narrowed his eyes and Strinverl froze into a living statue. Only his eyes moved, flicking around the room in shock. Rastran walked slowly around the immobilised highmaster and tapped the back of Strinverl’s scrawny neck with a gloved finger.
‘When I first discovered my mindmoving power, I used it crudely. I thought only of the most obvious bones, those that would cause maximum pain when broken. Legs, arms, ribs. But I’ve been working on my skills since I was banished to Bractaria. There’s a tiny little bone, right here.’ He pushed his finger into Strinverl’s skin. ‘So delicate, so fragile. Yet if that little bone is broken, death is instantaneous. All it needs is a twist of my power.’
Migala felt her own neck tingle and shuffled sideways until she felt the reassuring presence of her nanna’s leg against her side. Strinverl tried to speak, but even his jaw was stuck fast. All he could do was grunt. Rastran clicked his fingers and Strinverl jerked back to life like the puppet he was.
‘Tell me what I wish to know.’
‘Yellowsap,’ Strinverl croaked eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘The Aliterrans make it and Thorlberd wants it.’ Migala looked at him in disgust. What a coward.
‘I know that already. This Aliterran is easier to control than that Kyrginite fool, Jelgar. What does Father want with yellowsap?’
‘His scientists are using it to make a weapon of some kind.’ Strinverl’s words spilled over themselves in his desperation to please. ‘Thorlberd believes it will make him invincible.’
‘Interesting. Now, while you are being so amenable, what other secrets is Father keeping from me?’
‘None that I know of, I swear.’ Strinverl’s voice grew shrill. He’s lying, thought Migala.
‘You’re lying,’ Rastran said. Strinverl cringed.
‘I know only rumours. Thorlberd keeps something hidden in the Northern Wastes. Something so precious he sends mindweavers to protect it.’
Rastran turned to Migala and her nanna. Don’t look! But it was too late. Marl Rastran’s dark eyes were already on hers.
‘You will remember nothing of this,’ he said. Migala felt a sharp pain in her head.
Migala and her nanna wheeled their barrow through the castle gates and down the cobbled track towards the sheds, as they did every evening. It was heavier than usual. They held a handle each, but even so, they struggled to stop it tipping sideways. An unconscious man lay inside, his head and one arm hanging lim
ply over the side. It was hard to be sure in the dusky light, but his skin looked yellow. Migala didn’t know how he’d got there, but she suddenly realised what they were about to do and pulled up in horror.
‘We can’t just feed him to them critters,’ she protested.
‘We’ve no choice, lass. They’ll know if we let him go. Ain’t no such thing as secrets in Golmeira.’
Their destination was a large shed that lay a quarter of a league outside the castle walls. The familiar stink hit them even before the shed emerged from the darkness. The door was ajar, and light shone through the crack. That’s not right. The door should be locked.
‘Where are the sentries? And—’ A large hand clamped itself over Migala’s mouth and before she knew what was happening, she was lifted off her feet and into the shed.
‘You’ve nothing to fear,’ said a soft voice. Migala felt calm and at peace. She stopped struggling. Nothing to fear. The hand was removed from her face and the familiar scent of urine and excrement hit her nostrils. She blinked. Three figures stood before her, backlit by a single orange jula lamp. One of them was huge. Behind them were Migala’s charges, knee-high creatures whose slime-covered wings hung limply at their sides. Hundreds of them were attached at intervals to long chains by iron bands looped around their necks. Right now, she was relieved to see, they were sleeping.
‘Who are you?’ asked one of the three, an athletic young woman with short hair and travel-stained leggings.
‘Who are you?’ Migala returned sharply. ‘Ain’t no one allowed in here, ’cept us.’
Another woman, her dark hair pulled into a neat plait, knelt in front of Migala and proffered a waxed paper bag. Inside were thick brown slabs of toffee. Migala’s cheeks moistened with longing.
‘What’s your name?’ the woman asked.
‘Migala,’ she mumbled, her eyes glued to the bag.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ said the woman with short hair impatiently, but the second woman snapped off a triangle of toffee and held it out.
‘I’m Polina. This is Kylen and the large fellow is called Hylaz. He might look scary, but he’s quite friendly.’
Migala snatched the toffee and bit down hard. Glorious sweetness burst across her tongue.
‘Lady Kylen? The Sendoran rebel?’ Nanna asked sharply.
‘She don’t look like much of a lady,’ Migala stated. The large man began to chuckle but stopped after a glare from the lady in question.
‘Where are the other migaradons, Migala?’ Polina asked.
‘Big uns flew off this mornin’.’
Her words came out muffled as the toffee softened and rounded itself into a ball that stuck to her teeth.
‘Where did they go?’ Kylen asked. Migala could only shrug. Kylen cursed under her breath. Hylaz bent over the barrow and removed the gag from their prisoner.
‘Perhaps this one knows something,’
‘Canti, canti!’ the man cried, his eyes wild. Behind them, the baby migaradons stirred.
‘So much for being quiet,’ Kylen remarked.
Polina addressed the prisoner. ‘I’m sorry, but we don’t understand your language.’
He pointed at Migala, his finger shaking.
‘They were going to be feeding me to those… those abominables!’ he said. Migala felt guilty tears prick at her eyelids.
‘Tain’t Miggy’s fault. She didn’t want to do it,’ said Nanna, her grip on Migala tightening. ‘If you want someone to blame, look no further’n me.’
The young migaradons began to flex their developing wings and paw at the floor with claws sharp enough to leave furrows in the dirty ground.
‘Let’s get this job done,’ said Kylen. Migala suddenly noticed three guards slumped against the wall.
‘You’ve come to kill them!’ she cried. ‘Oh, take us with you. Please!’
‘Hush, Miggy. What do rebels want with the likes of us?’
‘But Marl Rastran’ll kill us, Nanna. He’ll read our minds and know what happened.’ She turned to Polina, who seemed to have the kindest face of the three.
‘They’ll slow us down,’ Kylen said. ‘This wasn’t supposed to be a rescue mission.’
‘Yet we all know what Zastra would do, if she was here,’ said Polina. Kylen rolled her eyes.
‘You are knowing Lady Zastra?’ said the Aliterran, as Hylaz freed him from his bonds. ‘I must be speaking with her. Take me also!’
Kylen groaned.
‘Fine, you can all come. I haven’t time to argue.’ She ushered them out of the shed. ‘Everyone get outside. This isn’t going to be pretty.’
She lifted an axe from her belt and skirted round the inside of the shed. The creatures snapped at her as she went past, but the chains held them fast. She slashed at one of the chains where it was attached to the wall and it sagged to the floor. She ran to the next, hacking it free, and then onto the third and last. The chains slithered along the dirt floor as the baby migaradons writhed and kicked. They would soon free themselves.
‘She must be mad!’ exclaimed Nanna.
‘You wouldn’t be the first to suggest it,’ Hylaz remarked. Migala watched in awe as Kylen sprinted towards them, hurdling an outstretched claw before diving through the door, feet first, and used her trailing arm to slam it shut behind her just before two squealing creatures crashed against the other side. Hylaz quickly secured the bolt. From behind the door came high-pitched yelps. Claws scrabbled furiously against the closed door.
‘They’ll tear themselves to pieces,’ Nanna exclaimed in horror.
‘That’s the general idea,’ Kylen replied.
‘You’re bleeding.’ Migala pointed to a shallow gash across Kylen’s thigh.
‘It’s nothing, let’s go.’ Kylen’s careless unconcern for her wound impressed Migala almost as much as her heroics in the shed.
‘Getting careless, my lady.’
‘Your concern is noted, Hylaz.’
In the distance the castle gates opened and a troop of guards poured through.
‘I don’t envy them trying to sort out that mess,’ said Polina, as they retreated into the darkness.
‘Serves them right,’ Kylen remarked. ‘I’ve no sympathy for those who choose to serve Rastran.’
Migala clutched Nanna’s hand, her eyes drawn to the axe in Kylen’s hand.
‘We didn’t all choose it,’ Nanna protested bitterly. Migala looked at Kylen, half in fear, half in hope.
‘You’ll keep us safe, won’t you?’
Kylen thrust the axe into her belt. ‘I’ll do my best, but I don’t make promises I may not be able to keep. Nowhere is safe, not any more. If you are to join us, it’s best you know that from the start.’
Chapter Two
Zastra’s head throbbed as though someone was pounding nails into her skull. It felt like a dozen mindweavers were trying to prise out her secrets, although that was not what was happening. The roaring fire in the hearth at the end of the great hall gave out a strong heat, but that was nothing set against the angry exchanges between the members of her council. These meetings always gave her a headache, but today’s was proving particularly challenging. Borez, who was standing in for Kylen as chief representative for the Sendorans, jabbed his finger in her face.
‘It’s time we acted. Every moment we sit warming our bottoms, more Sendorans die.’
Borez needed careful handling. If he didn’t like her response, he was as likely to run her through with a sword as to debate the issue. As if reading her mind, Ithgol stepped forward and placed his hand on Borez’s chest, forcing him back into his allotted chair. The Sendoran tried to brush him off, but Zastra knew from experience that the Kyrginite’s arm was as solid as varnished blackwood.
‘Stand down, Ithgol,’ she said. The Kyrginite’s action would only antagonise Borez further. She hoped Kylen would return soon. Her mission had been a risky one, and even though Polina and Hylaz were with her, there were plenty of things that could have gone wrong. Zastra had be
en envious as she had seen them off. Her own duties as leader of the rebels forced her to remain cooped up on Uden’s Teeth. Besides, it was too dangerous for her to set foot in Golmeira. Her face was too well known. The last time she had ventured into her uncle’s domain she had been fortunate to get out alive.
‘I’ve had enough of Sendoran posturing.’ A sharp-nosed woman joined the argument. Nerika, captain of the Obala, was no friend of Zastra’s, but on this point they were agreed. ‘Lord Mendoraz and his whole army couldn’t defend your country, yet you think we should try and take it back with a handful of men and women? Most of the people here on Uden’s Teeth aren’t even soldiers. You may place a low value on life, but I do not. Neither does Lord Justyn, I’m sure.’
She looked across at a middle-aged man with sandy hair. He took a moment to respond, running his hands along the top of his thighs.
‘Our priority is housing. Krysfera is already overcrowded and more refugees are arriving all the time. Yet if the Far Islanders keep chopping down trees at such a rate we won’t have any timber left for building.’
‘Our fishing boats provide nearly half our food,’ protested Yelina, a stately woman with braided grey hair. She was the last survivor of the triumvirate of equals, elected leaders of the conquered Far Isles. ‘Apart from the Sendorans, we are the largest group here, but no one listens to our requests. If Lady Zastra might hear our proposal for a vote on the matter of fishing permits? Last Moonscross, the Obala stole a shoal of yellow perch from under the noses of our luggers.’
Yelina wanted to vote on everything. Zastra half suspected she didn’t go to bed until she had a mandate for when she should wake up.
‘Ahem. If I might – you will permit me – my dear Lady Zastra.’ A stout man with curly hair and a thin moustache that didn’t quite reach down to his upper lip rose to his feet whilst contriving to bow at the same time. Zastra was amazed he didn’t tip over. ‘I have had my people survey the other islands in our little domain – nothing of the grandeur of Golmeira, of course, how could they be? Even Sendor – alas, those are lost glories – such a sad state we outcasts find ourselves in – I’m informed that two of the neighbouring islands have springs – that is to say, fresh water – additionally some forestation – various new species to be catalogued – why only the other day we found a new type of earthworm and some sort of tuberous plant which might – and, in short…’
Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set Page 70
