Return to Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘Look what I found!’ Polina appeared, looking extremely pleased with herself. ‘Ixendred’s personal seal. I made up some papers ordering any Golmeiran to assist us. No one will question them if they carry Ixendred’s mark.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Kylen said. ‘We can take one of the barges down the Borderline River. It will save us a lot of time.’

  They stopped only to say a quick goodbye to Alboraz.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Kylen. ‘At last, some part of Sendor is back in the right hands. As long as you can hold Finistron, our people will have hope.’ Alboraz nodded.

  ‘Now we know how to kill migaradons, there’s not an army that can take Finistron from us, Lady Kylen. Just make sure this Golmeiran makes good on her promise.’ He turned to Zastra. ‘If you fail our people, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Despite Myka’s misgivings, Joril refused to accept that Jallal had been lying to her. Her teacher made fulsome apologies for being unable to chaperone Joril at the last holiday, and vowed to accompany her to Highcastle village at the next Moonscross. Although the more time Joril spent inside Golmer Castle, the less desire she had to return home. She loved exploring the many rooms, all so spacious and grand. The grounds too, were a source of pleasure; the kitchen gardens and glasshouses close to the castle were filled with new and exciting fragrances, and further away, shady copses were dotted about and provided a pleasant refuge as the days grew hotter. Her favourite place of all was the great hall, decorated with tapestries and intricately embroidered silks. Pictures of Golmeira’s Grand Marls hung above the top table and Joril tried to imagine from their faces what sort of people they were. Chief among them was a large portrait of Thorlberd and his consort the Lady Jintara, next to which hung a painting that always drew Joril’s particular attention. Lord Rastran, heir to the throne of Golmeira, was depicted on a jewelled chair, the hide of a dead caralyx draped around his shoulders. He stared imperiously into the distance, as if commanding all the land he could see. An eagle standard was crushed in his right hand. Joril wondered what that signified. He was so handsome with his fine features and dark hair swept across his forehead that she felt faint looking at it.

  Although she loved exploring, most of the time she was busy with her studies. She liked it best when the lessons turned to the history of Golmeira and of mindweaving. One lesson, on the ethics of mindweaving, had provoked a strong debate amongst the class.

  ‘Are mindweavers allowed to look into anyone’s mind, without their permission?’ Berynder had asked. Jallal explained how, for the good of Golmeira, mindweavers must determine the loyalty of its subjects and any who might wish to harm its people. Myka had raised his hand. Joril wondered why he was still in their class. Now he had uncovered his talent, he should really be with the trainees, but he had pleaded with her not to tell anyone about his truth-seeing. It made her wonder whether he really could tell truth from lies. She was convinced he was wrong about Jallal and so perhaps he’d been wrong about the rest. It was a shame. She dearly hoped he would find some mindweaving abilities.

  ‘Yes, Myka?’ Jallal’s habitual smile slipped a little as she looked at him.

  ‘Isn’t it true that, in the past, mindweavers were only allowed to read minds if they had strong reason to suspect someone?’

  Jallal fingered her robe.

  ‘Well, yes, that was true, under the previous regime. Leodra did not do right by his people in many ways, and that was one of them. Thorlberd takes better care of us all.’

  ‘But what if a mindweaver used his or her ability for their own ends. To win a bet, for example?’

  ‘That would of course be wrong.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be against the law, so what’s to stop someone?’

  Jallal rubbed her nose furiously, something she did when she was stuck for an immediate answer. Yldred was next to raise his hand. Everyone turned in surprise. Thorlberd’s second son rarely spoke.

  ‘What’s to stop mindweavers becoming too powerful?’

  Jallal trilled with laughter. ‘By the stars, I’d have thought you would all be pleased with the idea. You will all be mindweavers after all, except perhaps poor Myka. Surely it makes sense that power resides in the hands of those most able to wield it? Those who lead must be strong.’

  Yldred raised his hand again.

  ‘Does that mean we should only have Grand Marls with mindweaving abilities?’

  ‘Excellent question, my dear. The reigns of talentless Grand Marls never go well. Leodra was no mindweaver, which was why your father was forced to take over. He knew Golmeira would be vulnerable with such a weak leader.

  ‘Vulnerable to who?’

  ‘Our enemies. Sendorans. Far Islanders. Greedy peasants who want what doesn’t belong to them. Leodra was about to give in to all sorts of unreasonable demands. Many of us think he was being manipulated by an evil mindweaver to betray his own people. If Thorlberd hadn’t stepped in when he did, the stars only know what a mess we’d be in now.’

  ‘So there is such a thing as an evil mindweaver?’ Myka enquired. Jallal rubbed her nose again.

  ‘Yes, yes. There are bad people out there. Which is why it’s our duty to protect ourselves and our friends by monitoring everyone’s loyalty,’ she finished triumphantly.

  The class broke for lunch and Joril caught up with Myka.

  ‘Why haven’t you moved up to the trainees’ class?’

  The Southlander shrugged. ‘I like to live down to everyone’s low expectations. That way I won’t be made to do anything I don’t want to.’

  Joril stared at him in disbelief. ‘I don’t get it. I can’t wait to be a trainee. I hope I’ll be a mindmover, like Florian. Or able to mindmeld with animals. Or both.’

  ‘You don’t want much, do you?’ Myka remarked. At lunch, Yldred was sitting alone. Joril headed straight for him.

  ‘Can we sit with you?’

  Yldred shrugged, which Joril took as permission.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you,’ she began. Yldred started to shovel his food into his mouth as fast as he could. ‘I was wondering when you expect your brother back. And your father, of course. I bet they’ve had some exciting adventures.’

  She waited impatiently for Yldred to swallow his mouthful of food.

  ‘No, I don’t know when they’ll be back,’ he said, irritably. ‘And no, I don’t know what they’ve been doing. And, to save you asking, I don’t know if he prefers girls with fair hair or dark, or if he likes purple dresses better than green ones.’

  ‘Rumbled,’ said Myka with a grin as Joril flushed bright red. Yldred returned his attention to his lunch.

  ‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ she said. ‘Your brother, I mean.’

  Yldred shoved back his chair and rose to leave.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

  Joril stared at his departing back quizzically.

  ‘I suppose it must be hard for him, having such a talented brother. He must find it hard to live up to.’

  ‘Or maybe he knows something you don’t,’ Myka remarked.

  ‘I can’t see how,’ Joril protested. ‘He hardly ever contributes to classes and I know he gets Berynder to help him with his homework. He must be a disappointment. I heard Rastran was the top mindweaver in his class. Yldred will never be that, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I suppose you plan to take that particular honour?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were so ambitious.’

  ‘I just want to be the best I can. Nothing wrong with that.’ And to get everything that goes with it, she added silently.

  The next day, Joril noticed that Myka was not in his usual place. Jallal called them to order.

  ‘My dear students, I have wonderful news. Dear Myka has at last moved up to the trainees. He has found his talent, which just proves that, in time, even the most backwards of bluebloods will prove worthy of the opportunities that we provi
de.’ The class broke into an excited buzz. Joril raised a hand.

  ‘What is his talent?’

  ‘Didn’t you know, my dear? I thought you were a friend of his.’

  Jallal looked at her sharply, and her crooked smile did not extend to her eyes. Joril flushed. Had Jallal found out about their conversation on the ramparts? Then she remembered that she had supported her teacher and she calmed herself. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Even so, she was relieved when Jallal turned her attention back to the class.

  ‘Myka is a truthseer. It’s a minor talent. A powerful mindweaver can know everything in a target’s mind, whereas Myka can only sense if someone is telling the truth, but still, it is something. He’s not quite mastered it yet, and still gets some things wrong.’

  She directed the last sentence at Joril. For once, Joril wished their teacher was not paying her quite so much attention.

  ‘I’m so delighted I could hug everyone,’ Jallal continued. She pulled Berynder to her feet and whirled her in between the desks. ‘I just love my pupils to succeed!’

  The rest of the class giggled at Jallal’s antics. The morning passed quickly with their teacher in such high spirits. She even let them gossip about what Myka was doing, and how long he’d had his talent. Some tried to remember if they’d ever lied to him in the past, and whether he might have known it. At the lunchtime gong, Joril was first out of the door. The trainees were always ahead of the unproven in the queue as their room was closer to the kitchens. She found Myka, who accepted her congratulations mournfully.

  ‘I don’t know how they found out. Jallal called me to her rooms last night and asked me about it so directly that I had to own up. You didn’t tell her did you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Joril protested. Myka nodded. ‘True,’ he murmured glumly. ‘Then maybe someone read my mind. I can’t think how else they would know. I don’t like it. I don’t like that they can do that.’

  ‘Or maybe someone just overheard us.’

  Myka mumbled something incoherent. Joril opted to change the subject.

  ‘How was the trainees’ class anyway? I’m dying to know all about it. Who’s the strongest? Is it Florian? I bet it is. Or Fester?’

  Myka’s expression became even more sullen. Someone behind them tittered and she was nudged in the back. She whipped round and found herself face to face with one of the twins. Silver badge. Fester.

  ‘Still hanging about with the littluns, Myka?’ he sneered. ‘Given how useless you were in class today, I bet they’ll put you straight back with the unprovens. And Flour-head shouldn’t be here. Get to the back of the line where you belong.’

  Joril realised that in talking to Myka, she’d accidently pushed into the part of the line where the trainees were, something that was not allowed. She retreated to the back of the queue, seething at the unfairness. ‘You can go with her, until we see some evidence that you really are a mindweaver.’ Fester shoved Myka after Joril. The Southlander made no protest.

  ‘You shouldn’t let them push you around,’ Joril said. ‘You belong with them.’

  ‘I don’t ever want to belong with them,’ he returned. ‘Besides, I’d rather sit with you.’

  ‘Is that a compliment?’

  Myka shrugged.

  ‘Might be.’

  Joril linked her arm with his.

  ‘Let’s see if we can persuade one of the undercooks to give us double pudding to celebrate you becoming a trainee. Only you’ll have to try and look as if you are happy about it.’

  Myka’s glum expression lifted ever so slightly. ‘It’s worth a go,’ he said. When they reached the serving hatch, Joril secured them both an extra-large slice of pani-fruit pie and two dollops of cream. Myka took his bowl.

  ‘You’ve some nerve. I’m the one becoming a trainee. I don’t know why you deserve extra pie too.’

  ‘Don’t ask, don’t get,’ Joril remarked. They headed for a table where some of their classmates were seated. There was a space next to Yldred. His shoulders sagged visibly as they approached. Joril rolled her eyes.

  ‘Fine, I promise not to ask about Rastran,’ she said. Yldred’s expression brightened and he shuffled along to make more room. Joril’s classmates assailed Myka with questions about his truth-seeing abilities and the trainees’ class. Only Yldred stayed quiet. He ate his piece of pie in three spoonfuls and scraped his bowl so hard the spoon screeched against the pottery. He looked so hungry that Joril offered him a share of her double portion. He accepted her gift with a look of surprise. When he had eaten it, he leaned towards her and whispered.

  ‘My father and brother will return just before the next Moonscrescent. There’ll be a parade.’

  He reddened and left the table. Joril nearly shot out of her seat. Moonscrescent was not far off. Her best gown needed to be cleaned and pressed, and she must get herself nearer the top of the list for a haircut. She couldn’t afford to waste such an opportunity. At last, a chance to be noticed. To finally become somebody.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Zastra tugged at her collar. The stolen uniform was uncomfortably tight around her neck and shoulders, but baggy around her waist. Polina’s fake papers stated that they were escorting two Sendoran prisoners to Castanton. To maintain this deception, Zastra, Dalbric and Ithgol had donned soldier’s uniforms and Polina had found a black robe. Kylen and Findar were the supposed prisoners.

  ‘What does that make me?’ Hanra had asked. Kylen put the situation to her with typical bluntness.

  ‘You don’t look like a soldier or a Sendoran, so you’ll have to pretend to be one of those women that hang around soldiers providing favours. You can carry that off easily, I expect.’

  Their ruse had worked well enough to gain passage on a barge carrying wool downriver to Castanton. Zastra chafed at their slow progress. The barge moved only as fast as the current, stopping often to navigate the frequent locks. Zastra had been eager to talk to her brother, to make up for the years she had been away, but Findar spent most of his time sitting on the roof of the living quarters, watching the river birds. The roof was also where the lookout sat, alert for river pirates, making it impossible to have a private conversation. Zastra wondered whether Findar had chosen the spot deliberately. At least she didn’t have to worry about him blowing their cover. Unlike Hanra, who refused to act her part and spent the entire journey abusing Zastra or reprimanding Dalbric. Zastra couldn’t fathom the source of Hanra’s wrath, but the skipper’s suspicions had been raised and she had demanded to look at their papers again. They had needed Polina’s skills to convince the skipper that they were who they claimed to be.

  They arrived at Castanton. Kylen let out a low whistle when they disembarked. They could hardly see the water for all the ships that were docked. Nearly two dozen warships were tied against the wharves, three abreast. A fleet of trading ships, their hulls painted in the bright patterns and colours that identified them as from the Far Isles, were also crammed into the harbour. Space was so tight that some ships had been anchored out at the edge of the port, close to open water.

  ‘I’ve never seen it this busy,’ Kylen remarked. ‘It looks as if the entire population of the Far Isles has come to visit.’

  ‘Look closer. They are all flying my uncle’s standard,’ Zastra said. The sight saddened her. She had fond memories of the Far Islanders. They were peaceful traders, open and friendly. She shuddered at the thought of what Thorlberd’s army and his migaradons would have done to the pretty port of Mynganard. All for the glory of conquest. The docks were packed with Golmeiran sailors looking for somewhere to celebrate their victory. Mindweavers in black robes mingled with the crowd.

  ‘Let’s not hang around,’ Kylen muttered. They left the crowded quayside, Ithgol bringing up the rear to make sure they were not followed. It was dusk by the time they reached the secluded cove allotted for the rendezvous. The Obala had not yet arrived and so they made a rude shelter from some driftwood and settled down to wait.

  ‘At
least I can finally get out of this uniform,’ Dalbric said, removing his jacket. Zastra followed suit. She had hated every moment spent wearing her uncle’s colours. Now there was no need for the disguise and they didn’t want their friends to mistake them for their enemies. Zastra wouldn’t put it past Nerika to shoot her and plead a case of mistaken identity.

  ‘Dalbric!’ Hanra glowered at them from the entrance to their makeshift shelter. ‘Come inside at once. And avert your eyes. Zastra may be happy flaunting herself for anyone who cares to look, but there’s no need for you to ogle.’

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything!’ Dalbric protested.

  ‘Have you forgotten, you’re a married man? Or the promises you made to me on our joining day?’

  Dalbric flushed and disappeared into the driftwood shelter. Kylen guffawed.

  ‘By the stars, I’ve had enough of this stupidity. Hanra, you’ve no need to be jealous of Zastra. She has no interest in Dalbric. Not in the way you are worried about.’

  Hanra pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something, but settled for another glare at Zastra before she followed Dalbric inside. Zastra scratched her head.

  ‘Is that why Hanra’s always so rude to me? Because she’s jealous?’

  ‘It’s plainer than a fellgryff’s horn. I can’t believe you didn’t realise.’

  ‘How do you know I don’t have feelings for Dalbric? I do care for him, but like a brother, not… what Hanra was thinking.’

  Kylen smirked. ‘That’s even easier. It’s obvious that you are desperately in love with Ithgol.’

  Zastra grabbed Kylen by the waist and wrestled her to the ground. ‘Take that back!’ She pinned Kylen against the sand.

  ‘Fine. Enough,’ protested Kylen, laughing. ‘No need to be so sensitive about it.’

  Zastra continued to hold her down until she obtained a declaration from the Sendoran that Zastra had absolutely no romantic interest in the Kyrg and that to suggest such a thing was not only ridiculous, but could also be considered treasonous.