Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘Thank you for the tribute. My aunt, Urbek’s mother, loved to travel, particularly to Golmeira. She learned the language and insisted Urbek and myself do the same. She would be delighted that Grand Marl Thorlberd sends emissaries to discuss how our peoples might become better friends.’

  Urbek jabbed his finger towards Strinverl.

  ‘It is not being friendship, it is being lyings and treacheries. This man stole my—’

  ‘Urbek!’ Rafadal cut him off. ‘If you cannot control yourself, then leave.’

  Strinverl shook his head as if admonishing a child.

  ‘I am sorry your cousin has such a false impression of Golmeira. I am sure it was all a misunderstanding. It is unfortunate his language skills are no match for yours, Tharl Rafadal. He no doubt confused a friendly greeting for a threat.’

  Urbek slammed down his cup.

  ‘I will not sit and be listening to these lies.’

  He left by the main entrance. Bedrun slipped into the empty place as Rafadal lifted his goblet. Servants filled everyone’s cups.

  ‘Let us toast,’ Rafadal said. ‘This is gobini. We drink it on special occasions to celebrate friendship and peace.’

  ‘Friendship and peace!’ repeated Strinverl, raising his cup to Zastra.

  ‘What lies have these black ravens told you?’ Zastra whispered to Bedrun. ‘Rafadal can’t really believe they come only to talk.’ Bedrun shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Thorlberd rules Golmeira. We would be fools not to acknowledge that.’

  ‘He means to invade. Urbek heard Strinverl boasting about it.’

  ‘We will be on our guard, but you are hardly unbiased, Zastra.’

  Zastra stared at her.

  ‘Neither should you be, after what happened to Morel,’ she exclaimed. Bedrun blinked away tears.

  ‘Should my Rafa turn away a genuine offer because of something that happened so long ago?’

  ‘Genuine? Bedrun, can you hear yourself?’

  ‘Don’t make me choose, Zastra. When I married Rafa, I became ko-yamacha. He must do what is best for our people and I must support him.’

  Zastra could see Bedrun was upset and so she left off the conversation and tried to enjoy the food. It was all raw or pickled. Urbek had explained that fires were forbidden inside the forest. The pickled dace was delicate in flavour and went well with the fruit and vegetables that the forest supplied in abundance. The gobini was less to her taste, but Rafadal kept refilling her glass and so she sipped the strong liquor out of politeness. Conversation was stilted. Not surprising, given the company. Only Strinverl appeared at ease, responding to Rafadal’s polite inquiries with effusiveness.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Bedrun asked in concern, as Zastra reached for some fruit and knocked over a fingerbowl of sweetwater. Her ears buzzed and she felt a sharp pain in her gut.

  ‘Lady Zastra has partaken of too much gobini,’ she heard Strinverl say, although his voice was strangely muffled. ‘Her father was the same, always getting drunk. A weak man with a weak head for drink. Grand Marl Thorlberd would never be so ill-disciplined.’

  ‘Thash no’ true,’ Zastra said, shocked to find she was slurring her words.

  ‘I think you should retire,’ said Bedrun in a low voice, looking embarrassed on behalf of her friend. Zastra was heaved up by Hylaz and Ithgol and taken to their quarters. Her head was pounding. Could she be drunk? She had only sipped the gobini, but Rafadal had kept topping her up. She must have had more than she realised. The ceiling above her swirled and lifted.

  ‘Can shomeone stop the tree?’ she mumbled.

  She was burning hot, dancing the fires on the First Born. Someone with three heads was looking at her.

  ‘She looks ill. We should get her a healer.’

  ‘There’s no cure for drunkenness. Let her sleep it off.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’s drunk. Feel how hot she is.’

  Someone touched her face, their hand cold as iced water.

  The Mother arose from the firepit, eyes of burning cinder. She pointed her pilu towards Zastra. A flaming arrow pierced her stomach. Pain burned through her. Someone screamed.

  Her head was held up and a cup of noxious liquid was pressed against her lips. She tried to push it away, but a firm hand resisted her feeble attempts. As the unpleasant liquid hit the back of her throat, she gagged and vomited clean across the room. It felt as if live snakes were writhing inside her stomach.

  ‘Sorry,’ she slurred. ‘Clean it up later.’ Don’t want to offend Rafadal. She felt impossibly tired. I just need to sleep, just for a little while. Words were spoken in a strange, yet familiar language. She knew she should understand it, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Maraka bark,’ a yellow man said in Golmeiran. ‘It is being deadly poison. It is affecting her mind as well as the body.’

  There was the sound of a serrated blade scraping against a scabbard and a huge fuzzy shape blocked out the light.

  ‘It must have been Strinverl. I will kill him.’ Zastra blinked and the fuzzy shape turned into Ithgol.

  ‘It couldn’t be,’ someone said. Morvain. ‘I watched him closely. And the others.’

  ‘Will she be all right?’ Bedrun’s face loomed into sight, and then faded. Zastra could barely keep her eyes open. Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead.

  ‘We must purge her.’ The noxious liquid was again held up to her lips. After barely a sip, she vomited once more, before slipping towards a comforting darkness. A lamp shone in her face, blinding her.

  ‘Wake up! wake up!’ Something slapped against her face.

  ‘Sleep,’ she mumbled weakly.

  ‘If you sleep, you die. Drink this water.’ She tried to shake her head, but nothing moved. Her tongue felt numb as flavourless liquid dribbled into her mouth and down her chin.

  ‘More.’

  She felt a flare of irritation. All she wanted was to be left in peace, but instead she was heaved to her feet.

  ‘Get up. Walk,’ growled a Kyrg, whose name she had forgotten. She didn’t take orders from Kyrgs. She allowed her eyes to close.

  ‘You are being weak, Golmeiran,’ the Kyrg said.

  Weak? How dare he? She forced her eyes open. An arm supported her, firm as timber. Ithgol. That was his name. But how come I know a Kyrg? They walked in slow circles. Every time she started to sink down, Ithgol kept her on her feet. Something made her realise that walking was living. Her brain felt like soggy oatmeal as she tried to figure out what had happened. Someone had poisoned her. A spark of anger flickered within her. She hadn’t survived this long only to be poisoned. She kept walking, even though her legs felt like they were made of pillows. A ko-venteela woman with three blue dots down her forehead put her hand to Zastra’s cheek.

  ‘She is still too hot. Bring me a wet sheet.’

  It was that strange language again, but this time Zastra understood the words. Aliterran. She was in Aliterra. How had she forgotten that? Someone swathed her in a sheet of wet cloth, so tightly she couldn’t move. A cup was placed in her hand.

  ‘Drink.’

  It was sweetwater. She forced it down, even as her stomach recoiled.

  ‘This one is a fighter. She might yet live.’

  She woke to find herself wrapped in a sodden sheet and surrounded by her companions. Rafadal’s face twisted in pain as Ithgol wrenched his arm behind his back. Bedrun clung to her husband, her eyes red and her cheeks puffy.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Zastra sat up slowly, pulling the damp sheet around her naked body. She had no recollection of getting undressed.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said Polina with a smile. ‘We thought we’d lost you.’

  ‘Thanks to this traitor,’ Ithgol growled, twisting Rafadal’s arm even further behind his back.

  ‘No!’ wept Bedrun. ‘My Rafa would never do such a thing. It is not in his nature.’

  ‘He confessed,’ said Justyn. ‘And his own healer found traces of poison in the gobini pitcher.’

  ‘Rafa wouldn’t d
o it. Zastra, please tell them.’

  Zastra looked at her old friend. Her distress seemed real, but she remembered what Bedrun had said about being ko-yamacha now. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. What was not right about this scene?’

  ‘I say we kill this murderer now,’ said Morvain. Ithgol grunted his agreement.

  ‘Strinverl? Or the others?’ Zastra asked hoarsely. ‘Could it have been them?’ Polina shook her head.

  ‘They had no opportunity to spike your drink, although they disappeared right after the meal which is suspicious, to say the least.’

  ‘Could they have forced Rafadal to poison me?’

  ‘No,’ said Morvain with conviction. ‘We would have sensed mindweaving had they tried it.’

  ‘Um, what about a mindlock?’ suggested Gwylla hesitantly.

  ‘What’s that?’ Polina asked.

  ‘It’s something a mindweaver can leave behind, so it works even if they are not present. Gildarn told us about it. I can look for one, if Tharl Rafadal would allow me inside his mind.’

  Polina appeared doubtful.

  ‘It is not something I was ever taught.’

  ‘Nor I,’ said Morvain. ‘Are you certain you remember rightly?’

  ‘I’m sure. Gildarn said it had been banned. Maybe that’s why you older mindweavers weren’t taught it.’

  ‘Less of the old, thank you very much,’ said Polina.

  ‘Tharl Rafadal, you have admitted poisoning me. Why?’ Zastra asked, her stomach still churning.

  ‘I… I don’t know.’ Rafadal’s eyebrows were knitted in pain and confusion.

  ‘You may have been controlled against your will. To prove it, you must allow one of our mindweavers look inside your mind.’

  ‘No, Rafa,’ cried Urbek. ‘They are thought-stealers and they are wanting you dead.’

  ‘I promise only to look for the mindlock,’ said Gwylla. ‘Nothing else.’

  Rafadal nodded. ‘If it can remove my shame, then I’m willing.’

  ‘I will link with Gwylla and follow her probe. To be certain,’ said Morvain. The two mindweavers linked hands and closed their eyes. Rafadal grimaced.

  ‘There!’ cried Gwylla.

  ‘I see it!’ Morvain exclaimed. ‘Oh, that is clever.’

  ‘Can you get it out?’ Rafadal pleaded between clenched teeth.

  ‘Already done,’ Gwylla said with a shy smile. Ithgol released Rafadal, who knelt before Zastra.

  ‘I have broken all ko-yamacha laws of hospitality. Once my people hear of this, they will no longer respect me. I will stand down and accept any fate you think fit.’

  ‘No,’ said Urbek. He threw Zastra a desperate glance. ‘No one else needs to be knowing about this.’

  ‘We cannot let everyone continue to think Zastra is a drunk,’ protested Morvain. ‘Your reputation—’

  ‘Is less important than what is right,’ insisted Zastra. ‘Rafadal was not to blame and his people need him now more than ever. I doubt we’ve seen the last of Strinverl.’

  Bedrun rushed towards her and buried her head in Zastra’s neck.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘It goes without saying that if you’d let me scan Rafadal in the beginning, this wouldn’t have happened,’ Morvain said petulantly.

  ‘Yet saying it you are,’ Urbek retorted.

  ‘The fact is Zastra was poisoned by this man’s hand. She is within her rights to exact retribution.’

  ‘And when we next meet Strinverl, you have my permission to punish him appropriately. Right now, I’ve more important things to worry about. For one thing, where are all my clothes?’

  Chapter Thirty

  Kastara had made no progress in getting away from Port Krysfera. Gildarn’s mood showed no sign of lifting and his ban on lessons remained firmly in place. The relief boat was due to leave for the Spur the day after next and Kastara resolved that, bad mood or not, she would ask her teacher’s permission. She waited until her former classmates had left before knocking on the door of his cabin. There was no answer, so she knocked again. Her fist was raised to knock for a third time before the door was finally pulled back revealing a scowling Gildarn.

  ‘The answer’s no,’ he snapped. ‘Unless you’ve learned control. I can’t have my lessons disrupted. They’re too important.’

  ‘This isn’t about lessons.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ The question came from within the cabin. Through the gap between door and post, Kastara saw Dobery lean forward in his chair. She slipped quickly under Gildarn’s arm. He could hardly slam the door in her face if she was inside.

  ‘How are you, Master Dobery?’ she asked. He winked at her.

  ‘Well enough for someone my age. But I’m sure my health isn’t what brings you here.’

  Kastara checked her mental barriers. They were sound. Dobery wasn’t mindweaving. The old man was just smart.

  ‘Kastara, you can’t just force your way in here. I enjoy having a roof over my head and I’m sure Master Dobery feels the same.’

  ‘How is the girl to learn control if you won’t teach her?’ Dobery remarked. Gildarn adjusted his robe.

  ‘I have to think of the rest of the class. This thing with Kastara, it is a strange type of mindweaving. I’m not sure I can help her.’

  Dobery stared at Kastara thoughtfully.

  ‘We are seeing many new powers these days, especially in those who were given cintara bark when they were young. Myka’s talent is unusual and then there’s poor Orika. How will we ever understand if we push these poor youngsters away?’

  ‘But she nearly blew out the walls! If she wrecks this cabin, we’ll have to join those sleeping head to toe in the great hall.’ Gildarn’s tone made it clear how little he liked that idea. Dobery pressed his palms together.

  ‘Kastara, what can you tell us about this power of yours? Where does it comes from?’

  Kastara pointed to the middle of her chest.

  ‘It starts here.’

  ‘Can you summon it at will?’

  ‘No, it comes… only when I’m scared.’

  Why hadn’t she realised that before?

  ‘Good. At least you’ve figured out that much. And so…?’

  He waited expectantly. That was the problem with Master Dobery. He rarely gave you answers, only questions.

  She stared at him blankly. ‘Um… I suppose I could try and make myself scared. To make the shield come.’ She slapped herself on her forehead. ‘And then I’d be ready. I’d have a chance to control it.’ She was delighted to have made such a clever deduction. Another idea formed, even better than the last one.

  ‘Perhaps I should practise out to sea, where I can’t hurt anyone,’ she suggested.

  ‘Interesting idea,’ said Gildarn. ‘Unless you accidentally destroy your boat.’

  ‘I won’t. It doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ Dobery leaned towards her eagerly. ‘Exactly how does it work?’

  ‘It never spreads downwards. I’ve never made a hole in the ground.’ Another thing she hadn’t realised.

  ‘Interesting. Perhaps it takes the path of least resistance.’

  ‘The ground is too heavy to move,’ Gildarn said thoughtfully. Dobery sat back in his chair.

  ‘Well, Kastara, it looks like you’ve got some homework to do,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Does that mean I can join the relief boat?’

  Gildarn frowned.

  ‘Who said anything about a relief boat? Lady Kylen’s in charge of all that. I would strongly recommend you stay on dry land until you’ve figured this thing out.’

  Kastara was through the open door before the mindweavers had time to blink. She could have kicked herself for being so stupid. She’d been wasting all this time with Gildarn when it was Kylen whose permission she needed.

  Kylen examined the rising fortifications. The first storey of the tower had been completed and the two flanking walls were almost at head height. Her competiti
on had worked wonders. What had surprised her most was that relations between the different groups had actually improved. Daily challenges were made and accepted, and although the familiar insults could still be heard, they were said with a smile or a wink instead of anger.

  ‘At this rate, we’ll top out in a few days and be finished by Moonscrescent,’ said Vingrod, rolling up the plans in satisfaction.

  ‘Good. Keep at it. What about those trenches?’

  ‘We have to prioritise,’ Vingrod said. ‘If we pull away workers for other tasks, then we’ll delay topping out.’

  ‘Pitwyn, can you spare anyone?’

  The curly-haired man had been hovering in the background, waiting to catch her attention. His thin moustache twitched eagerly.

  ‘Not if the catapults are to be completed on time. All our carpenters are busy and – a thousand apologies – I am sure you have considered – we have nothing to fire out of them – all the stones have gone into building this – well, I suppose it’s functional enough – hardly in the Sendoran architectural tradition – such beautiful buildings your countryfolk – such a shame Thorlberd destroyed so many of them.’

  Kylen puffed out her cheeks. Pitwyn was right. The catapults would be useless without ammunition. Another problem to add to her list.

  ‘And then – not to add – but even if we find more rocks – how will we get them all the way from the quarry to the north headland?’

  That too, was not a trivial problem, but she was a soldier not an engineer. Did Pitwyn expect her to think of everything?

  ‘Um, excuse me.’

  Kylen turned to find Zastra’s sister looking at her expectantly.

  ‘What is it?’ She really didn’t have time to sort out another of Kastara’s messes.

  ‘I’d like permission to go in the relief boat to the Spur.’

  ‘Why? No, don’t bother. I’ve more important things to deal with. The answer is no.’

  The short trip to the Spur held little danger, but Kylen knew Zastra would want her to keep brother and sister close. She turned back to Pitwyn.

  ‘Can’t we quarry some rock closer to the headland? There’s a bluff on the far side. Might that serve?’