‘I can vouch for my man,’ he protested. ‘Please, he has a family – two girls and another child on the way.’
Orwin’s words carried no weight, not even in his own castle. The unfortunate valet and the others were taken to the main courtyard and lined up, shivering in the cold air. They were made to wait until Rastran emerged from his chamber, yawning. The grand marl paid no heed to the pleas of the victim’s families, or even those of Marl Orwin himself. With a sharp motion of his hand, the condemned men and women collapsed like broken puppets.
‘What was that?’ asked Orwin, horrified as Rastran hurried back into the warmth of the castle.
‘Our grand marl likes to take on the role of executioner himself,’ said Strinverl. ‘He has an enviable mindmoving skill. He has broken their necks. The only limitation to his power is that he must be close to his target and able to see them.’
‘What did they do to deserve such a fate?’
‘Nothing yet,’ said Strinverl, ‘but they might. Best we take out the rotten fruit before it turns the rest bad.’
Sickened by what he had seen, Myka retreated to the kitchens. He found Podrik leaning over a bubbling saucepan. Myka wrinkled his nose.
‘That smells awful!’ Podrik jumped so hard he nearly knocked the pan off the stove.
‘Oh, it’s only you,’ he said with relief.
‘What are you doing?’
Podrik checked that they were alone.
‘I’m… not going to let Strinverl get his hands on poor Ursolina. I… got this recipe from a healer. A few drops in his chala and he’ll sleep the whole night. If he’s asleep, he… can’t hurt her.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Myka. Podrik turned his good eye towards him.
‘You’re with Lady Zastra, aren’t you? One of the rebels?’
Myka nodded.
‘She came here, long ago. We were friends – she said so herself. No one else ever wanted to be my friend. What’s she like now?’
Myka pictured the tiny lugger ripping through Thorlberd’s fleet.
‘Not someone to be messed with,’ he said.
‘Ha!’ Podrik nodded sagely. ‘That was true, even then.’
Myka returned to their chambers to find Gildarn and Nerika dressing for the banquet.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be protecting Orwin?’ he asked.
‘People might talk if I followed him into his bathroom,’ Gildarn remarked. ‘Not that he’s my type. I prefer a man with hair. Besides, Rastran scanned him yesterday. He’s unlikely to repeat the exercise.’
‘How do you know Strinverl?’ Myka asked. Gildarn stared at him.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw him whisper in your ear.’
‘Oh, that? Nothing but an idle threat. Standard practice, trying to rattle me.’
Myka tried to keep his expression neutral even though he knew Gildarn had just lied to him. He went over to his bed and began to tidy it, feeling the Far Islander’s eyes follow him. A rap at the door made them all jump. A servant from the royal entourage informed them that Grand Marl Rastran wished to view their merchandise. Myka turned to look at Gildarn, who was staring back at him. Why would Gildarn lie about knowing Strinverl?
‘You best bring a bale, Myka. It will look odd if I carry my own silks,’ Gildarn said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
‘You’re the traitor!’ Myka gasped.
Gildarn sagged into the nearest chair and burst into tears. Nerika jammed a chair beneath the door handle to stop anyone coming in, then seized hold of Gildarn.
‘It was you? What have you told them? Do they know why we’re here?’
‘No! They think I’m using you as cover. I try to give Strinverl as little information as I can.’
‘But you gave up Uden’s Teeth?’ Nerika’s nose went white. ‘Dobery and all the others. Dead, because of you!’
She went for him, slapping and punching hard. Gildarn ducked beneath his arms in a cursory attempt to protect himself.
‘Nerika, stop. This isn’t helping.’ Myka tried to lift her away but she fended him off and continued to pummel Gildarn until his hair was awry and his nose bloodied. Myka wondered why Gildarn didn’t stop her with a simple burst of mindweaving. His own powers were too limited or he would have done it himself.
‘They have my Dray,’ Gildarn sobbed. ‘They’ve had him all this time. If I don’t tell Strinverl something tonight, he’ll kill him.’
Nerika pulled a knife out of her sleeve.
‘You won’t be telling anyone anything,’ she cried. Myka jumped between them, wishing again that he had offensive mindweaving skills. As it was, he couldn’t even make Nerika drop the knife.
‘You can’t kill him,’ he said. ‘We need him to protect Orwin, remember? Or are you going to put revenge ahead of winning this war?’
Chapter Sixty-four
Myka eventually persuaded Nerika not to kill Gildarn. Not yet at least.
‘You have to let him go the banquet,’ he said. ‘To protect Orwin.’
Nerika eventually saw the truth of what he said. Gildarn dressed in his best clothes, cleaned up his face and went down to the banquet. Myka headed for the kitchens and offered to help. It was the safest place he could think of. He doubted Rastran would ever set foot somewhere as hot and busy as a kitchen. Morn put him to work plating up some of the simpler dishes. Podrik was there too.
‘Rastran said he didn’t want his meal spoiled having to look at a malformed half-breed,’ he said morosely. ‘Look at all these plates! Ma’s prepared five times as much they could ever eat in case our grand marl doesn’t care for some of the dishes. Meanwhile, most of the local villagers are struggling to pay even for bread.’
Myka felt a pang of guilt. He had never gone hungry, not since he’d been identified as a blue-blood and future mindweaver.
‘What are you able to do?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘With your power?’
Podrik gave a one-shouldered shrug.
‘No one ever… showed me. I learned to hide. An’ sometimes I can tell what people are thinking. Not like words, but… people look at me and I can feel their… disgust.’
Myka showed Podrik how to protect the minds of others. It was the most useful thing he could think of. Podrik showed a surprising aptitude. All the time, Myka wondered about Gildarn. Would he betray them? Since no one had come to arrest him, he supposed their cover was still intact, but for how much longer?
‘Podrik, take this water and wine up to the visitors’ chambers,’ Morn instructed. Myka offered to help. They deposited carafes of water and wine in various rooms, saving Strinverl’s chamber until last. Myka kept watch while Podrik pulled a small vial from his jacket and poured half the contents into the water and the rest into the wine.
‘I thought you said it only needed a drop?’
‘I want to make sure.’ Noises in the corridor told them the party was breaking up. The door opened. To Myka’s surprise, Nerika came in.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Making sure Gildarn doesn’t betray us. You’d better hide. They’re coming.’
Myka and Podrik ducked beneath the bed and Nerika folded herself into a wardrobe.
‘In you go, girl. No need to be shy.’ The chamber door opened. From his position under the bed, Myka saw a pair of boots heading towards him. The hem of a robe followed, not quite hiding the toes of small brown boots, faded from years of polishing. Ursolina. Another pair of boots followed. Myka recognised them as Gildarn’s.
‘Perhaps you’d better send the girl away,’ said Gildarn.
‘But then I might not get her back.’ Strinverl said. ‘Look at her, she’s trembling.’ He sounded pleased. Glass clinked against glass.
‘Some wine?’ Gildarn offered.
‘I’ve had sufficient. I do not wish to dull tonight’s pleasures. What do you have to tell me? It had better be good.’
‘The rebels are in disarray. The Sendorans have split off.’
�
��That I know. What aren’t you telling me? You’re working too hard to protect your mind.’
‘I have nothing more to say, Strinverl,’ Gildarn said.
‘It’s what you don’t say that concerns me. That Southland girl, Orika. You told me she was no use to anyone, and yet she was responsible for Thorlberd’s defeat. What else have you lied about?’
‘Nothing, I swear it.’
‘I had your precious Dray whipped before we left Golmer Castle. It’s amazing that he’s got any skin left on his back. He will suffer more unless you give me something useful.’
Myka jolted so hard his head hit the base of the bed. Strinverl was lying, he was sure of it. A shadow blocked out the line of light beneath the bed and he turned to see Strinverl’s hawk-like face staring at him. A probe battered against his mental defences.
‘Out you come. Both of you.’
Myka and Podrik reluctantly emerged from their hiding place. Myka felt dizzy, so strong was the pressure applied by Strinverl.
‘I remember you.’ Strinverl frowned. ‘You were one of our trainees.’ He turned back to Gildarn.
‘Your husband will pay for this with his life.’
‘It’s you who’ll pay!’ Nerika burst from the wardrobe, her knife in her hand. Ursolina screamed. Strinverl narrowed his eyes. Nerika collapsed to the ground.
‘You can’t kill me,’ Strinverl snorted. ‘None of you are strong enough.’
Podrik fell to the floor and Myka battled for control of his own limbs. He reached out to try and balance himself and his hand found the carafe of water. He wrapped his fingers around the neck and, with huge effort, he hurled the contents into Strinverl’s face. The highmaster’s mouth opened in shock.
‘What—?’ he spluttered. Myka watched in desperate hope. A single drop, Podrik had said. He’d better be right, for all their sakes. Strinverl blinked twice and keeled over like a felled tree. Ursolina was still screaming.
‘Sorry, my dear,’ said Gildarn, catching the girl gently as he sent her into a stupor. ‘But we can’t afford to make this much noise.’
Myka roused Podrik and Nerika, all the time expecting soldiers and black ravens to come bursting through the door.
‘Why doesn’t anyone come?’ he said. ‘She was screaming loud enough to wake the dead.’
‘The sound of screams from Highmaster Strinverl’s chambers must be a common occurrence,’ Gildarn remarked bitterly. Myka checked the corridor, just in case.
‘Nerika, no!’ Gildarn cried. Myka whirled round, but too late. Strinverl’s throat had been cut.
‘That’s for Justyn,’ Nerika said, cleaning her knife. Gildarn began to weep and tear at his hair.
‘You’ve killed Dray! Only Strinverl had the power to keep him alive.’
‘Gildarn, I’m sorry, but I think Dray is already dead,’ Myka said. ‘I could tell Strinverl was lying about him.’
Gildarn’s legs gave way and he sank to the floor. ‘I should have known. I felt he was gone, but I wanted so much to be wrong. Oh, I’ve been such a fool.’
‘This is bad,’ Podrik said. ‘To kill a highmaster is treason.’
‘Maybe we can persuade everyone that it wasn’t murder,’ said Myka.
‘Sure. The man cut his own throat,’ Nerika remarked sarcastically, but Myka’s mind was racing.
‘What’s does Rastran worry about more than anything else?’
‘Getting his boots dirty?’ Nerika suggested.
‘I think we can do better than that,’ Myka said. ‘But we’ll have to work together.’
The next morning, the castle was bursting with rumours. Highmaster Strinverl had been spotted leaving in the middle of the night, in the company of a group of silk merchants. There had been no mistaking him, with his skeletal frame and the stiff way he rode his horse. When first Orwin and then Rastran questioned the gate guards as to why they had permitted anyone to leave, they had looked only blank. Mindweaving was suspected. A search of Strinverl’s chamber revealed he had taken his belongings with him.
‘I told you those merchants were suspicious,’ Lichinara said quickly. A scan of her mind confirmed she had remained her in chamber all night. Her husband too, was cleared. Rastran scanned him personally, alongside his half-breed cripple of a servant, who seemed to be always hanging about his master. They knew nothing. The final proof was found in the mind of a groom, who had overheard a whispered conversation as the traitors had saddled their horses.
‘Lady Zastra will reward you well for your service, highmaster.’
Strinverl was branded a defector. A white-faced Rastran packed up his retinue and headed for the safety of Golmer Castle.
Chapter Sixty-five
Brutila had ended up as Anara’s personal gaoler. The irony did not escape her. They had returned to Golmer Castle to find Rastran and Highmaster Strinverl absent and Lady Jintara in charge. Rastran’s mother refused to set eyes on her rival and ordered Anara be taken immediately to the dankest, gloomiest cell in the dungeons. As for Brutila, nobody knew quite what to do with her. She had assisted in Anara’s capture, but her exile hadn’t been officially rescinded. With no official position, she had the option of wandering about the castle to be stared at, or stay confined to her allotted chamber. Neither option was appealing and she found herself drawn to the dungeons. Jintara had given no orders regarding Anara’s welfare, seemingly happy to leave her to rot. Brutila brought hot food from the kitchens and refilled the water barrel. She even arranged for a mattress, so Anara didn’t have to sleep on the stone floor. Her prisoner thanked Brutila as if she was being kind, instead of simply repaying an obligation. Zastra’s mother had taken to her new prison with the same calm acceptance she had shown during her banishment to the Northern Wastes. Brutila couldn’t understand it. How could she be wrenched away from her family and placed in the power of someone like Rastran and yet show neither fear nor anger? It wasn’t that Anara lacked emotions. Brutila had seen her delight in spending time with Findar and Kastara, and noted the hurt, only partly disguised, caused by Zastra’s indifference. It was simply Anara’s way to repay any affront with fortitude and kindness. She soon had the prison guards running after her, bringing her blankets and refilling her jula lamp, although she never asked for such consideration. Brutila soon put a stop to these attentions. Anara was her responsibility, and hers alone. After a stern word with the captain of the guards to that point, Brutila brought her prisoner a plate of freshly cut bread, sliced cheese and a bottle of spiced wine.
‘Brutila, you are always so kind to me,’ Anara greeted her. ‘I see you’ve brought two mugs. You will join me, I hope?’
The second mug had been intended to replace the dirty one by the water barrel, but Anara patted the mattress next to her, inviting Brutila to sit by her. Why not? It wasn’t as if Brutila had anything better to do with her time. She perched on the edge of the mattress and poured out the wine.
‘I wish you’d tell me about your father,’ Anara said, after waiting in vain for Brutila to speak.
‘Why do you want to hear about him?’
‘It might help you to talk about what happened.’
‘He was an abusive flekk and I killed him for it,’ Brutila said bluntly. To her surprise, even this stark confession relieved something inside her. She found herself relating her father’s cruelty. He had taken Brutila away from her mother before she even knew her, refusing to answer any of her questions when she grew old enough to ask. Every day ended in a beating, no matter how hard she tried to please him, and so she soon stopped trying. Powerless at home, Brutila had started to bully her schoolmates.
‘You needed to feel in control of something,’ Anara said. ‘Don’t you see? All this bad inside you comes from your father.’
‘Only weak-minded fools blame others for their troubles,’ Brutila responded. ‘I am what I am.’
‘And this? How did you get it?’ Anara reached up and touched her cheek. Brutila shivered. It was strange to feel someone else’s fingers on her
skin, brushing gently against the rough ridge of scar tissue. It took a moment to get her voice muscles to work.
‘I was sixteen. There was a girl. A thief, as it happens. I caught her trying to lift my purse. I beat her for it, of course. She didn’t flinch or cry out. The way she took my beating, I sensed she was used to such treatment. Like me. I looked inside her mind and saw that I was right. Saw too that she had a plan to escape.’
‘You went with her?’
‘Father caught us. He made sure no one ever wanted to run away with me again.’
Anara rested her hand on Brutila’s.
‘You have it in you to choose. You had compassion for that poor girl. Embrace your good feelings and you can overcome this evil inside you.’
Brutila broke away. She would not let Anara wheedle her way inside her skin.
‘Rastran will be returning soon,’ she said, rising. ‘I wouldn’t care to be you when he gets here.’
She slammed the door behind her with a satisfying clang, but as she exited the dungeon she knew that she dreaded Rastran’s return. What really alarmed her was that she didn’t know if she was more concerned for her own fate or for that of her prisoner.
Chapter Sixty-six
The Northern Wastes had been emptied. Jelgar brought every warrior he had to Sendor and Lungrid led her hunters, insisting the future of all Kyrgs depended on Zastra’s promise. An avalanche had blocked off the pass between the Guardians only a few days after they had made it through. They met up with Kylen. Kricklend wasn’t big enough to house everyone, so the Kyrgs made camp outside its walls.
‘What happened to you?’ Kylen examined Zastra intently. ‘Your face is as red as a Kyrg’s and you look like a good sneeze would knock you over.’
Zastra fingered her cheeks. The icy winds at the top of the Warrior Mountain had scoured her skin, leaving it raw and peeling.
Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set Page 99
