Murthen Island: Book Two: Tales of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘We’ll have to wait until dark. We don’t want the Skurgs to see the smoke.’

  ‘Come on, it’s worth the risk. My stomach is eating itself.’

  ‘Wait,’ growled Ithgol, reverting to his old, monosyllabic self. Only when it was fully dark did they dig a pit and light the fire. The lizard flesh was pungent and unpleasant and the river snake proved to have more bones than flesh so their hunger was only partly satisfied. Jerenik began to fidget again.

  ‘How much longer do we just sit here? I’m freezing to death.’

  Ithgol growled at him and Zastra did not feel the need to add anything. The sound of chanting came to them on the night air.

  ‘Celebrating their victory,’ muttered Ithgol. Zastra shivered, recalling the horrors of the morning. She was more determined than ever that neither Dastrin nor Thorlberd would get their hands on the sintegrack. They could kill thousands at a time with such a weapon. She wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep warm. A question rose in her mind.

  ‘Ithgol, how did Burgal know you were an outcast?’

  Ithgol held out his left arm, palm upward. A line of circular tattoos, of different designs and colours, ran up the inside of his forearm. ‘A tattoo is added each year, for those that are not culled. I have not had one since I ran away and so my treachery is clear.’

  ‘I wondered what they were. Why are some different colours?’

  ‘Colour represents rank. See where mine change from orange to green? That was the year I was promoted to the second rank.’

  ‘Why don’t you just tattoo yourself as a guthan?’ suggested Jerenik. ‘Red ones like Burgal has? I could do it for you.’

  Ithgol grabbed Jerenik’s throat in one hand.

  ‘That would be the deepest dishonour. Only a thief like you would suggest such a thing.’

  Zastra tried to pull him away, but Ithgol’s arm was like a block of stone. Jerenik’s face began to go purple and his eyes bulged.

  ‘Let him go, Ithgol. We mustn’t fight amongst ourselves.’

  Ithgol released Jerenik with a shove. Jerenik shot the Kyrg an evil look. Somehow, I have to get them to work together, thought Zastra. I just wish I knew how.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ‘My Lady, surely you can’t be serious?’

  ‘We are used to achieving the impossible, Hylaz,’ Kylen responded, but even she frowned as she examined the Golmeiran encampment. There must be thousands of soldiers, well organised, with tents in neat lines and sentries patrolling every entrance and exit. General Ixendred was an effective adversary. They had sneaked past several intelligently placed sentries to get even this close.

  ‘We can’t even be certain Lord Zadorax is here.’

  ‘Where else could he be? We know that Rastran was responsible for that… that outrage.’

  Kylen shuddered as she recalled that night. Even from her position deep within the caves she had felt the earth tremble. One of their people had managed to stagger back to tell her about the terrible weapon, and describe the crowing Golmeiran who had taken her brother prisoner.

  ‘I’m certain we will find that cowardly flekk here. The supply wagon we captured yesterday was full of wine and other delicacies. Only someone like Rastran would demand such luxuries. Now, if only we knew which is his tent.’ She continued to scour the encampment.

  ‘Even then, how can we hope to get into the camp unnoticed? Let alone out again.’

  ‘We have to try. I should never have agreed to let Zax be part of the ambush. If he hadn’t been so close to the surface, he would still be safe.’

  Hylaz sighed heavily. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  At the edge of the Golmeiran camp a sentry leaned against a large rock and watched a lopsided wagon loaded with barrels inch towards him. It was driven by a large man with a bent back and a thatch of grey hair that looked as if it had not been washed in years.

  ‘Halt. Let’s see your papers.’

  ‘Eh?’ The waggoneer scratched his disgusting hair and a couple of insects flew out. The sentry took one step backwards, trying not to gag.

  ‘Papers.’

  The old man patted his chest and began to rummage around his filthy rags. At last he produced a dirty scrap of paper.

  ‘Provisions for Lord Rastran.’ He gave a damp sniff. The sentry examined the papers.

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Had to fix the wheel.’ The sentry inspected the cart. The front wheel was made of recently hewn wood, raw and unfinished. He stepped back and pointed out a large cabin of freshly cut wood. ‘That’s Lord Rastran’s residence. He’ll be pleased to see you.’

  The old man nudged the cart forwards.

  ‘Good work,’ came a whisper from inside one of the barrels. ‘But check your wig. I think it’s slipped.’

  The man planted a large hand on the top of his head and rotated the grey wig in a small circle.

  ‘How’s that, my Lady?’

  ‘Hideous. But it’ll do. Let’s give Lord Rastran his special delivery.’

  No one paid them any attention as they parked the wagon in front of Rastran’s residence. Hylaz dealt quickly and silently with the two guards that stood outside. It was a solid structure; Kylen reckoned it must have taken a whole troop many days even to dig the foundations in such stony ground. What a waste of time and effort. She supposed Rastran wouldn’t lower himself to sleep in a tent like the rest of his army. They entered the cabin. Kylen recognised Rastran instantly. He was taller than she remembered, but still had the same black hair and insolent manner. He was alone, seated on a chair with his feet resting on a table.

  ‘How dare you—’ His face contorted with shock as Kylen swept his chair from underneath him and pinned him to the floor, her knee on his chest.

  ‘G-guards!’

  ‘They’re taking a break,’ Hylaz informed him. ‘Golmeirans have such weak heads.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Kylen demanded. ‘Where is my brother?’

  Ixendred was busy auditing his army’s provisions. A dull, but complicated task. He had asked not to be disturbed and was therefore extremely irritated when one of his captains poked his head through his tent flap.

  ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘Apologies, Master at Arms, but I think something is going on in Lord Rastran’s quarters.’

  ‘His quarters? You mean that ridiculous little palace he had built? I’d quite happily burn it down. You know he had wood sent from Golmeira to build it? Sendoran trees weren’t good enough, apparently.’

  ‘There seems to be some kind of disturbance.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what our princeling is doing. Sort it out yourself.’

  The guard hesitated.

  ‘The last soldier who went into Lord Rastran’s quarters without invitation was whipped for impertinence.’

  Ixendred sighed. It probably was just Rastran playing his usual games, but he had learned over the years never to assume anything. He was responsible for Rastran’s safety after all.

  ‘I suppose we’d best go and check.’

  ‘We need to leave, my Lady.’

  ‘Not now Hylaz, I’m busy.’ Kylen redoubled her pressure on Rastran’s chest. ‘Tell me where my brother is.’

  The door to the cabin burst open and Ixendred and three Golmeiran soldiers barrelled in. They stopped short at the scene in front of them. Ixendred dropped into a polite bow.

  ‘I see Lord Rastran has visitors,’ he remarked. ‘Lady Kylen, I presume?’

  ‘Tell me where my brother is, or Thorlberd’s pup will die.’

  Ixendred gave an open handed gesture.

  ‘Go ahead. You’d be doing me a favour.’

  A stifled cry of rage emerged from beneath Kylen’s knee.

  ‘You really want me to kill Thorlberd’s eldest son?’

  ‘It would rid me of an inconvenience. Although I would have to kill you in retaliation. Whereas if you lay down your weapon I’ll spare your life. I have twenty more guards outside. You c
annot escape.’

  ‘I don’t fear death.’

  ‘That is quite evident. Attacking our camp with just one companion is not the act of someone who values survival.’

  Rastran glared up at her and then his eyes narrowed. ‘You will pay for this, Sendoran bitch.’ Kylen reasserted her downward pressure.

  ‘Your mind-meddling doesn’t work on me. Or had you forgotten?’

  She eased the tip of her sword into Rastran’s neck and drew a bead of blood.

  ‘H-he’s been sent to Murthen Island,’ Rastran stammered.

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘I d-don’t know. The location is a secret.’

  Kylen twitched her sword by a fraction. Rastran’s words came out in a high pitched flood.

  ‘It’s in the Sea of Golmeira, somewhere southeast of Castanton. That’s all I know.’

  Almost before he had finished, Kylen and Hylaz exchanged a quick nod and together sprang through the open window. Ixendred stepped over Rastran.

  ‘Seize them!’ he cried.

  Kylen jumped on the cart and sparked the horses into life while Hylaz scrambled into the back. There was no sign of the twenty soldiers they had been expecting. Ixendred had been bluffing. The Master at Arms and his three companions burst from the cabin door. Hylaz began to heave the contents of the cart at them. The Golmeirans were forced to dodge the heavy barrels that bounced and rolled into their path.

  ‘Have some wine,’ cried the big Sendoran, flinging a barrel towards Ixendred. ‘Compliments of Sendor.’

  The barrel burst as it hit the ground, drenching their pursuers in dark red liquid. Relieved of its heavy load the cart sped up as it thundered towards the edge of the camp. The perimeter guards were sent diving out of the way as the horses charged through.

  ‘Horses!’ cried Ixendred, wiping the red wine from his face. ‘Fetch me our fastest horses.’

  Unfortunately for Ixendred, the horses were stabled at the opposite side of the camp and by the time they had been brought the Sendorans had disappeared into the mountains. Rastran emerged from his residence to confront Ixendred.

  ‘I shall not forget your treachery.’

  ‘Do not confuse tactics with betrayal,’ Ixendred returned. ‘I was trying to distract her.’

  ‘You would have let her kill me.’

  ‘I wanted her to believe that. Or to keep her guessing at least. You’re alive aren’t you?’

  Rastran dabbed a finger to his neck. His fingertip came away with a red smear of blood.

  ‘I want them found. Send the whole army after them if you have to.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Ixendred snapped. ‘If we scatter the army about these mountains, they will be easy pickings for any Sendoran with a crossbow.’

  ‘I insist you do as I command.’

  ‘Have you forgotten your father’s instructions? I am in charge here, not you.’

  Rastran screwed his features so tight that his skin, already pale, became as white as chalk.

  ‘Very well. I will go to Murthen Island myself and see to the punishment of that brat Zadorax personally. If his sister comes for him, this time I shall be ready.’

  ‘Try not to enjoy yourself too much.’ Ixendred didn’t bother to hide his repugnance.

  ‘I’ll take the Bractarian Guard with me. I don’t trust the Kyrgs.’

  Ixendred clenched his jaw but made no protest. The Bractarian Guard were his best soldiers but it would be worth it to be rid of Rastran.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The singing had long since ceased. The crescent moons passed their zenith and Ithgol and Zastra agreed it was finally time to move. They approached the stockade cautiously. Ithgol set his back against the wooden spikes and planted his feet. Zastra clambered onto his shoulders, reached for the top of the fence and pulled herself up. Jerenik followed. Zastra had seen some acrobats perform a similar move when she was a child. She and Jerenik wedged their feet between the sharp points at the top of the stockade and crouched down to grab Ithgol’s hands.

  ‘He’s too heavy!’ gasped Jerenik as they heaved the Kyrg upwards. They pulled so hard that they overbalanced and landed inside the stockade in an inelegant bundle of arms and legs.

  ‘Oof!’ grunted Ithgol.

  ‘Great plan, mountain girl.’

  ‘We made it, didn’t we? Is everyone all right?’

  Zastra took the silence as affirmation. A small patch of light illuminated two Skurgs seated next to the stone trapdoor. Ithgol marched over. In the dark, he looked no different from them. The Kyrgs stood in greeting and he cracked their heads together with a sickening thud. The Skurgs collapsed silently to the ground.

  ‘Time to work my magic.’ Jerenik bent down to examine a large keyhole in the middle of the stone slab.

  ‘Or we could just use this.’

  Zastra removed a chain from around the neck of one of the Skurgs. It carried a large key which fitted into the lock. Beneath the trapdoor, wooden steps led down into the darkness. Zastra took up the lamp and made her way down into a square bunker. Directly in front of them was a solid wooden door, with two more on either side. All the doors were locked and the trapdoor key did not fit any of the locks.

  ‘Now it’s time for your magic.’

  Zastra stood back and Jerenik produced a pair of thin metal implements, each with a hook at the end. After moment’s fiddling he had unlocked the door opposite the steps. The door creaked as they opened it. A loud yell made them jump.

  ‘Who’s there?’ It was a female voice, strident and angry. ‘I demand you let us out.’ A fist pounded on the door to their left, breaking the silence of the night.

  ‘Hush!’ whispered Zastra urgently. ‘We are not your gaolers. Who are you?’

  ‘Who are you?’ came the riposte, none too polite.

  ‘Someone who could help you escape, if only you keep your voice down and tell me who you are.’

  ‘Golmeiran, are you?’ asked the voice, a little more evenly. ‘You sound like it from your accent. Border regions?’

  Zastra couldn’t help a little inward smile. She had worked hard over the years to disguise her natural accent with that of the mountains.

  ‘Aye,’ she said.

  ‘We’re Golmeiran sailors, kidnapped by Skurgs. Can you get us out?’

  Jerenik looked nervously up the stairs. ‘We’re wasting time.’

  ‘I’m not leaving anyone locked up here when we set fire to the sintegrack,’ Zastra insisted. ‘They wouldn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Jerenik began to tackle the second door, while Zastra and Ithgol entered the first room. It was piled high with small cloth bundles. Zastra picked one up and examined it. A waxed string protruded from the bag.

  ‘They must set fire to this string, like a candle wick.’

  An idea began to form in her mind. She tugged the string from some of the parcels and began to splice them together. ‘If we make a longer string it might just give us time to get away.’

  Jerenik finally succeeded in opening the second door. Five men and two women stumbled out, shading their eyes against the light of the lamp. Jerenik turned his attention to the final door and soon had it open. It contained just one prisoner, his face bruised and swollen.

  ‘Yerdan,’ cried one of the women, rushing over to help him. ‘What have they done to you?’

  ‘Nerika, is that you?’ croaked the man. ‘They told me they’d killed you all.’

  ‘Time for reunions later,’ said Zastra curtly, gesturing them up the stairs. The prisoners did not need much urging.

  ‘You two as well.’ Zastra nodded at Jerenik and Ithgol. ‘I don’t know if this string idea will work. There’s no point in risking all our necks.’

  ‘Aw, you really do care, mountain girl.’ Jerenik’s teeth gleamed in the dark.

  ‘I just don’t want your stupid face to be the last thing I see if this goes wrong.’

  ‘I will do it.’ Ithgol made a grab for the string.

/>   ‘No. It’s my plan. Besides I can run faster than you. You’re not exactly built for speed. Stop wasting time and go.’

  Zastra waited until the others had reached the top of the stairs and then scraped her knife along her fragment of firering, taking care not to cut into her fingers. A shower of sparks dropped onto the ground and the end of the spliced string caught fire. The flame moved towards the mound of sintegrack with surprising speed. She turned and sprinted out of the passageway, taking the stairs three at a time.

  ‘Run!’ she yelled, discretion no longer necessary. They had just reached the perimeter of the stockade when the earth trembled and roared as though enraged by its violation. The ground was yanked from beneath their feet and the sky burst into a brilliant fireball. Winded, Zastra scrambled to her feet. They had barely managed to get beyond the edge of the blast. The Skurg dome had not been so lucky. Half of it had collapsed into a crater larger than the hull of a ship and fire was licking at what remained of the wooden structure.

  She felt a strong grip on her arm and realised that Ithgol was dragging her through the splintered remains of the fence. Jerenik whistled.

  ‘That was some fire-fountain. You nearly killed us all.’

  The woman called Nerika rounded on them.

  ‘Whose stupid idea was it to destroy the sintegrack?’

  ‘If you had seen your crewmates torn apart by it, you would want it destroyed too,’ Zastra argued.

  ‘You can thank us anytime you like,’ Jerenik remarked. ‘You know, for the rescue.’

  The woman stared at them, aghast. Realisation dawned on Zastra. ‘You came to steal it, didn’t you? You wanted it for yourselves.’

  The woman did not deny it.

  ‘Look!’ One of the other prisoners pointed out to sea. Dawn was breaking and three ships were closing on the island.

  ‘Is it Justyn?’ Nerika asked eagerly, but her companions shook their heads. Zastra recognised the lead ship as the Wind of Golmeira. The dual flag of the Golmeiran hawk alongside Thorlberd’s gecko flew atop the mainmasts of each vessel. Dastrin had returned, with reinforcements.