Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘Get them off me!’

  ‘Zastra, jump!’ Kastara cried. Her sister turned towards her, her face pale and sickened.

  ‘Hurry!’ Kastara cried, and Zastra finally seemed to hear her. She ran towards them and sprang down onto the deck of the Wind of Golmeira. It was lower than that of the massive flagship and she landed heavily, her right leg giving way beneath her. Kastara ran towards her sister. A curly-haired black raven leaned over the side-rail of the flagship and sent a shower of metal darts spinning towards them. Kastara snapped up her shield and the shards of metal bounced off it.

  ‘Leave my family alone!’ she cried, reaching for the last of her strength and pushing outwards, separating the two ships. The Wind of Golmeira’s bowsprit tore a chunk out of the flagship’s hull as they disengaged. Seawater swirled into the gaping wound and it began to sink. Seeing the fate of their flagship, the few enemy vessels that remained intact turned and fled.

  Zastra shrugged off Kastara and limped to the side of the deck. The bay was covered in debris, with bodies floating in between. A piece of upturned hull knocked against a fragment of sail. On it, face down, was the unmoving body of a woman with flowing dark hair.

  ‘There!’ cried Zastra. ‘Throw out a line!’

  Ignoring the stabbing pain in her thigh, she dived back into the sea and swam towards the woman, reaching her just as the piece of hull lifted and the woman slipped into the water. It was Polina. Torvin cast a line towards them and hauled them both aboard.

  ‘Look for others… Waylin, Kayled,’ Zastra gasped as she knelt beside Polina and pumped her chest. Polina coughed and opened her eyes.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked weakly. Zastra sank back on her haunches.

  ‘I think we might have won.’

  ‘Orika?’

  Zastra looked away, unable to meet Polina’s accusing gaze.

  ‘It was the only way we could win.’

  Polina coughed up a mouthful of seawater. ‘How could you, Zastra? She trusted you, and you took her to her death.’

  The Wind of Golmeira limped around the bay, picking up survivors from among the floating debris of battle. The Obala was a mere hulk, her pumps working overtime to keep her afloat. As they closed to offer aid, Nerika beckoned Zastra across.

  ‘It’s Dobery. He’s in bad way.’

  Zastra felt hot blood running down her thigh as she limped across a gangplank slung between the two ships. The wound from the Makhana Forest must have re-opened when she’d leapt off the flagship. Dobery was propped against the stump of the mainmast and she almost choked at the sight of him. A piece of his skull was caved in, blood matting what was left of his grey hair. His face was so pale, the veins showed through as purple cracks, and his eyes were misted over. She sank down beside him and grasped his hand as weak rays of sunlight broke through the clouds.

  ‘Zastra…?’

  ‘I’m here,’ she said. Dobery’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.

  ‘There were too many of them, all at once,’ Nerika said. ‘He was working so hard to protect our minds, he couldn’t defend himself.’

  Dobery’s mouth moved again.

  ‘Daughter…’ he gasped, his throat convulsing with the effort. She kissed his hand, over and over again.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘And you have been more than a father to me.’ She swept a stray strand of grey hair from his forehead and clung to his hand, desperate to keep him with her. She had seen the terrible darkness that awaited him.

  ‘I command you to live, old man.’ But it was no good. He faded in and out of consciousness, his breathing laboured and shallow. She stayed with him until the light faded from his grey eyes forever. She barely heard Nerika inform her that the last of Thorlberd’s soldiers had surrendered. The day was theirs.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Having charged Nerika with taking care of Dobery’s body, Zastra found herself back on the Wind of Golmeira without realising how she had got there. As the sun was setting against a bruised sky, Kastara and Findar ran to her and she couldn’t hold them close enough.

  ‘I knew you’d come,’ said Findar. ‘You always do.’

  Kastara buried her head in Zastra’s shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know why I’m crying,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to stop.’

  ‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ Zastra said tenderly. ‘I’m so, so proud of you. Both of you.’ But Kastara would not be comforted.

  ‘I’m sorry – I’ve been so selfish… You were right about… about everything.’

  Zastra couldn’t help but smile. ‘And I thought us winning this battle was the only miracle we’d see today.’

  She would have held them forever, but after a while they broke free and asked permission to join Myka, who was helping Yashni, the Wind of Golmeira’s healer, with the wounded. Zastra couldn’t deny such an honourable request. The ship’s deck was crowded with the injured. Many were being sent across to the great hall, which was being used as a field hospital. Mata took one look at Zastra’s leg and ordered her to get it seen to. Zastra was too exhausted to argue that it wasn’t Mata’s place to give her orders and too tired to resist as Mata put her in a boat and sent her ashore. In the hall, she was amazed to witness Sendorans, Golmeirans and Far Islanders exchanging tales as they waited patiently for the overworked healers to tend them. There was an air of celebration and relief, and a strong sense of shared pride at their miraculous survival. Zastra envied them a joy she was unable to feel. She should be happy they had survived against such odds and that they lived to fight on, but she felt… nothing. Once her leg was bound, she walked among the injured, thanking each one for helping save Uden’s Teeth. They were eager to tell their stories. She heard from those who had held the wall, those who had manned the luggers at the south beach, and others who had been on headland batteries. So many people demanded her attention that the grey crescent of dawn was lightening the sky to the east before she reached the end of the hall. There, she recognised two fair-haired figures laid out next to each other. Zax had a bandaged ear and, cradling him, her clothes and face reamed with dried blood, was Kylen. Zastra sank to the floor and watched them until she saw their chests rise and fall. They were alive, and with no serious injuries as far as she could tell, but the deadness inside her allowed her only a brief flash of relief at their survival. She was about to go when Kylen’s eyelids fluttered open. With a couple of disbelieving blinks, they settled on Zastra.

  ‘Hey,’ said Zastra, softly.

  ‘Hey yourself.’ Kylen eased herself away from Zax, careful not to disturb him.

  ‘So this is what I get for leaving a Sendoran in charge?’ Zastra raised an eyebrow. ‘Chaos. War. Dead migaradons cluttering the beaches.’

  Kylen opened her palms.

  ‘What’s a bit of mess between friends?’

  ‘I’ll let you off. What you did was truly remarkable.’

  ‘Not as remarkable as sailing a lugger through an entire fleet of warships.’

  ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Who else would do something so utterly brave and utterly improbable? Oh – you’re hurt!’

  Zastra looked down at the bandage on her thigh. Oddly, she felt no pain. In fact, she still felt nothing at all.

  ‘That was from before. From Aliterra.’

  Kylen shook her head. ‘See what happens when I’m not there to look after you?’

  ‘And whose fault was that?’

  Kylen looked at her and seemed about to say something, but then stopped herself. Zastra stood.

  ‘It turned out for the best. It was fortunate for everyone that you were here to protect them. You should get some rest. You’ve more than earned it.’

  Kylen laid back down, her eyelids already drooping.

  ‘We should talk,’ she muttered, but she was asleep before Zastra had time to respond. Zastra watched them for a little longer, then left the hall and headed home. Exhaustion permeated deep into the marrow of her bone
s and she longed for the oblivion of sleep.

  Part Two: Secrets

  Chapter Forty-four

  Lord Rastran, Marl of Bractaris and heir to the throne of Golmeira, was not in a good mood. Golmer Castle’s head groom had just informed him that his favourite stallion had gone lame and now he found out his personal guest, Marl Rikard, had departed suddenly, claiming he was needed urgently at his own castle on the western plains. Rikard was a fat blowhard with no mindweaving talent and even fewer conversational skills, but Rastran had taken much pleasure in toying with his two pretty daughters, both pitifully desperate to catch a rich and powerful husband. His game had been to make lavish and public compliments to both, interspersed with periods of casual disregard, manipulating their emotions like a musician. The silly girls had sunk from triumph to despair on his whim, all the while festering with mutual jealousy. He had planned to bed both of them on the same night and watch the consequences unfold, but Rickard’s premature departure had put an end to his schemes. Ever since his father had returned from Uden’s Teeth, defeated and blind, the nobility had been remiss in paying their dues. The fact that Rickard had the presumption to dictate his own time of leaving was just another example. The fear and respect Thorlberd had once commanded had now turned to pity. One should not feel pity for a grand marl.

  Golmer Castle, too, had lost something of its grandeur. Only a single migaradon patrolled the skies, when not resting in its quarters. Of the dozen or more creatures his father had taken with him to Uden’s Teeth, only two had returned. Less than half the council of mindweavers had survived the debacle and most of their warships had been destroyed. Skurg pirates had seized on their weakness and were already raiding further and further north, threatening their trade routes. Rastran absently pulled his knife from its sheath and turned it between his fingers. It was a fine piece, the silver hilt cast in the shape of a gecko and adorned with green gemstones. It had been a gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday, the day they had seized power. Rastran had never liked the insignia his father had chosen. A gecko crawled on the ground, hiding behind rocks. When he had come of age, Rastran had chosen a caralyx as his symbol, the fearsome, sabre-toothed predator that ran wild in the Helgarths, a picture of speed, grace and death. Much more fitting for a grand marl. His train of thought was interrupted by the entrance of a servant.

  ‘Grand Marl Thorlberd commands your presence, Lord Rastran,’ he said, bowing low. Rastran gripped the ornate hilt so hard that the gemstones dug into his skin. The man waited patiently for his response.

  ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘Find Florian and Fester. Have them meet me there.’

  ‘My lord, the grand marl asked only for you.’

  Rastran closed his eyes and sent out an unspoken command. The fool had no resistance to mindweaving. He would fetch the twins as Rastran wanted, without even knowing he was doing it. Rastran had nurtured Fester and Florian throughout their training, recognising their unique skills at an early age. They were loyal to him. Call it a hunch, but today he felt more secure facing his father with them in tow.

  Thorlberd sat with his back to the door of his office, his face hidden by shadow. Rastran signalled to the twins to wait by the door, their minds screened. Thorlberd might be blind, but his mindweaving powers had not diminished. Bolstered by the twins’ undetected presence, Rastran strode into the room.

  ‘You wished to see me?’

  Thorlberd turned. Rastran stared unashamedly at the scarred pits where his eyes had been.

  ‘I recalled you from Bractaria to bolster our strength, not to waste time playing with the affections of foolish girls.’

  His father’s overbearing manner hadn’t changed since his humiliating defeat. Rastran couldn’t remember ever hearing a word of praise from him. To think he’d resented being left behind when the fleet set sail for Uden’s Teeth. It had turned out to be a blessing. Rastran was one of the few who had not been tainted by the fiasco.

  ‘We need to talk about the future,’ Thorlberd continued. Rastran’s ears pricked up. Perhaps his father was going do the sensible thing and abdicate. His chest swelled. He was more than ready. Thorlberd frowned. ‘We need to take back the initiative. You recall Strinverl’s expedition into Aliterra?’

  ‘Another failure,’ Rastran drawled. ‘You seem to be having quite a few of them recently.’

  ‘You should choose your words more carefully,’ Thorlberd said. ‘Never admit failure. Besides, the Aliterran mission achieved its primary objective.’

  ‘The yellowsap?’ Rastran could barely contain his eagerness. He was finally going to find out what was so important about the Aliterran face paint.

  ‘Indeed. Its properties have proven… interesting. It is time to give Yldred more responsibility. Your brother deserves a chance to prove himself. I need to know that you will support him.’

  Thorlberd will never let you be Grand Marl. Zastra’s taunt still haunted Rastran. He’d made her pay for it, although not nearly enough. He felt a strong pressure on his mind and had a moment of anxiety. When he was younger, his father had always been able to break through his defences. But then he remembered the twins, adding their powers to his.

  ‘Have you been working on your blocking?’ Thorlberd frowned. ‘Or…’ he tailed away, but not before Rastran had seen the uncertainty on his face. He’s wondering if he’s lost more than just his eyesight. Afraid that his powers might be failing too. If Rastran had been a different kind of man, he might have felt pity. Instead he grinned, secure in the knowledge that his blind father couldn’t see he was being mocked. The tables were turning.

  ‘What kind of parent steals the private thoughts of his child?’

  Thorlberd launched himself from his chair. Rastran reached for his mindmoving power. With two sharp pops, he broke his father’s shinbones. Thorlberd crashed to his knees. His face creased with shock.

  ‘That’s better!’ Rastran clapped his hands together. ‘My father finally showing me the respect I deserve.’

  ‘Rastran, what are you doing?’

  ‘Funny, that’s exactly what I was going to ask you. Were you really thinking of promoting the runt over me?’

  Thorlberd tried to get to his feet, but with another mindweaving burst, Rastran snapped his left thighbone. Thorlberd crashed forward onto his broad chest.

  ‘Guards!’ he bellowed. His cry bounced emptily around the walls of the small chamber. Rastran watched in amusement as his father began to drag himself towards the door.

  ‘You should be proud of me at last, father. You always talk about the importance of planning. While you were away, I found out which of the castle guards can be bribed. I probed their minds for their dirty little secrets. No one is coming to help you.’

  He reached out his hands and joined with Fester and Florian.

  ‘Time to see how strong your defences are.’

  Yet crippled as he was, Thorlberd cast a wall of iron to protect his mind. There was no way through.

  ‘Fine, keep your secrets. I imagine your scientists will be eager to tell me about the yellowsap weapon. I don’t need you.’

  ‘Rastran. Stop this, I command you!’ Yet there was fear at last in those familiar features.

  ‘You taught me not to tolerate failure, Father. I’m only following your teachings.’

  With a final, brutal twist of his power, Rastran snapped Thorlberd’s neck.

  Chapter Forty-five

  It had taken a great deal of work to set Uden’s Teeth to rights. In the immediate aftermath of battle, Zastra had spent three days in bed as her body recovered from the punishment she had put it through. Yet as soon as her leg was sufficiently healed, she threw herself into work, desperate to fill the aching emptiness inside her. She oversaw the harvesting of the crops and the repair of the fortress. She instructed the blacksmiths to forge a vast iron chain, to be strung across the channel through the Spur where it would rip out the hull of any vessel that tried to pass. Now Uden’s Teeth had been discovered, it was
imperative they control access to the Serene Sea. Vingrod designed a pair of large winches to raise and lower the chain, allowing their own ships to pass. A stone tower was built either side of the channel to house the winches, each manned by a dozen pure-blooded Sendorans.

  New catapults were constructed to replace those destroyed in the battle. The Daydream and Mystique lay at the bottom of the bay, but five of Thorlberd’s ships had been abandoned near the southern landing site and somehow the Obala had been kept afloat. Every ship except the Wind of Golmeira needed repairs and carpenters were in great demand. Zastra saw Dalbric working on a new bowsprit for the Obala as she did her daily rounds. The tip of his tongue stuck out as he concentrated, just as it had when she and Findar had lived with him and Etta. He stopped and smiled at her as she approached, but she nodded tersely and moved on. She couldn’t bring herself to make idle chatter, not even with Dalbric. She needed to keep busy. The moment she stopped working, she was transported back to the deck of the flagship, the metal spear bursting through her ribcage. The most difficult task was dealing with the dead. Waylin’s drowned body had been recovered from the bay, along with many others. Ithgol and Hylaz returned from Aliterra, bringing news that Myshka and Xhoyal had returned to their lands to join an open rebellion against the rule of the druin-ji.

  ‘What about Justyn? And the others?’ Zastra asked anxiously. Ithgol fiddled with the hilt of his scythal.

  ‘What is it?’ Nerika snapped. Hylaz met her gaze.

  ‘Lorzan is bringing the youngsters, but… there’s no easy way to say this. Justyn’s wound was too severe.’

  ‘He’s dead?’ Nerika whispered. Hylaz nodded miserably. Nerika turned on Zastra.

  ‘You left him there to die.’ Zastra turned away, knowing there were no words that could ease Nerika’s pain.

  ‘Polina is right, you’re a cold bitch!’ Nerika said bitterly as Ithgol eased her away. Yet still Zastra felt nothing.