Warrior of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know what, but the birds seem frightened.’

  ‘Aren’t birds always scared?’

  ‘I suppose so, but these seem agitated by something.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re just surprised to see us.’

  ‘Maybe. It’s probably nothing. Come on. The sooner we get these supplies up, the sooner we can go home.’

  Kastara hefted her barrel onto her shoulder. Findar was right. Now that she had seen how barren and drab the Spur was, she couldn’t wait to get back to yacht. At the top of the incline they found Myka and Nerika lying on the ground, peering over at the brow. Myka turned his head and put his finger on his lips. To their left, the Spur rose further towards a jagged summit. To their right, the land dropped away into a narrow channel of sapphire water. Ahead, the Sea of Golmeira was shrouded in mist. A swirl of wind dispersed the fog, revealing the dark hull of a large warship. Another followed close behind. On the deck of the first ship, something huge and dark lay in chains. The mist lifted some more and Kastara gasped. Dozens and dozens of warships were holding station on the other side of the Spur and the first was just about to enter the channel.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Kylen flopped onto her bunk, too weary even to wash. Zadorax lay curled up beneath a blanket, gently snoring. She barely saw him these days. He was helping with the fortress, and disappeared each dawn, returning late at night to sink wearily into bed.

  She reviewed their progress to date. The catapults had been constructed and four of them placed on the northern headland. However, the Far Islanders were still refusing to release their fishing boats for the pontoon, meaning the south headland remained undefended. She would have to approach Yelina again. The fortress had topped out and the walls needed only buttressing. Another few days should do it. She had to hand it to the young mindweavers, they had made a good job of the trenches. She had no idea how Kastara had persuaded them to help. The girl was sharp, no doubt about it. She had certainly trapped Kylen in a net, reminding her so publicly of her promise. Still, the journey to the Spur was short and Nerika would look after them. Getting rid of the shrewish woman for a few days had been an unexpected bonus. There was a soft tap-tap at the door, so hesitant that it seemed to apologise for the intrusion. She knew it was Pitwyn before she even opened the door. Did the man ever sleep?

  ‘My lady – you will forgive the lateness – only you did say you wished to hear the latest progress on – now let me see – jula oil, firerings, migaradon-scale weapons. And the stones from the northern cliffs. They are smaller than desirable – the rock is cracked and – in short, I’m afraid most are no bigger than my head.’

  ‘Better than nothing. But such small stones are unlikely to smash through a hull. We should increase the supply of straw bales and oil at the north headland. A burned ship is destroyed just as well as one with rocks. Which reminds me, did Mata get the sand she requested?’

  ‘Indeed – Captain Mata is most efficient – her crew are extremely well drilled, one might almost say that they are like proper – and sand is one thing we have plenty of.’

  ‘Good. Then we need to start practising. Most of our people have never seen a catapult, let alone fired one.’

  ‘Um. If my lady will permit…’

  He paused, and Kylen suppressed a sigh. Anything that stopped Pitwyn’s rapid flow usually meant trouble.

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Many of the workers are demanding – that is to say, requesting – the guber root and cabbage harvest is ripe and needs to be picked.’ Kylen sighed.

  ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.

  ‘Perhaps five days, my lady, if you were willing to release all the workers – it would be a shame for the harvest to go to waste – but it is your decision, I only tell you what I have heard.’

  Kylen promised to give the matter some thought. Of course, they didn’t want to lose the harvest, but now that they had a semblance of a defensive position she was painfully aware that no one except her Sendoran soldiers and the crews of the warships knew anything about fighting. And a defensive position, in her experience, was only as good as the people defending it.

  The next morning, she told Pitwyn that she would allow the harvest to be picked only once everyone of fighting age had undertaken a few days of basic training, and the crews of the catapults had proved they could hit a target. Not before.

  ‘If nothing else, their eagerness to make the harvest will ensure they learn quickly,’ she said. She oversaw the catapult training herself. Mata was waiting for her at the north headland with a handful of seasoned sailors. They demonstrated how to load, aim and fire one of the catapults. Three rafts made from empty barrels had been strung across the bay. The first payload of head-sized rocks clattered into the nearest raft.

  ‘Nice shooting,’ said Kylen. ‘Now let the others try.’

  Mata released the catapult to a volunteer crew of farmers, carpenters and a pair of Far Island fisherwomen. Kylen watched in dismay as they tried to load the bucket before they had properly set the catapult. One of the fisherwomen almost broke her arm as the unsecured bucket sprang back to the upright. Next, they piled too many rocks into the bucket and Mata had to step in and explain that they risked breaking the arm. After much arguing and instruction, loading was completed.

  ‘By the time that took, half of Thorlberd’s fleet could have sailed into port,’ Kylen remarked. Nobody wanted to take responsibility for aiming the catapult until a heavily pregnant young woman stepped forward. She had been standing to one side as her companions loaded the catapult. Kylen recognised her. Hanra, the Borders woman who had married Zastra’s old friend, Dalbric, who was also part of the catapult crew. Mata explained the principles. Hanra shrugged, licked her finger and held it in the air. She ordered her husband to winch the base around by a few degrees and crank the bar up a notch. Satisfied, she stepped back, not deigning to touch the catapult herself. Dalbric took a sledgehammer to release the catch and the catapult crashed against the bar, propelling the stones out to sea. They landed short of the nearest raft.

  ‘Not bad,’ remarked Mata. ‘At least you were on the right line. You just need more elevation.’

  This time, the catapult was loaded in half the time, although still long enough to let a quarter of a fleet sail by. The stones landed between the two nearest rafts.

  ‘Good line again,’ said Mata, clapping in encouragement as Kylen strove to master her impatience. Further down the headland, the neighbouring catapult sent a shower of rocks directly up in the air. The crew scattered in panic as the rocks fell back towards them. Mata hurried off to try and sort them out. Hanra began barking orders at the crew. To Kylen’s surprise they obeyed and the catapult was soon made ready. Hanra tested the air again, set the bar and nodded at Dalbric. The stones landed close enough to rock the nearest raft. Hanra looked at Kylen triumphantly.

  ‘Happy now?’

  ‘I shall be when you hit each raft three times in a row,’ Kylen said, as a sail rounded the northern headland. Relief flooded over her. Kastara and Findar had returned. Then she realised they were not expected for another day, and the hull of this boat was a different colour to the one Nerika had taken.

  ‘Stop!’ Mata cried, waving her arms frantically as she ran towards them. Hanra’s crew, enthused by their near success, had reloaded their catapult and were preparing to launch. They hadn’t noticed the boat.

  ‘Stop, Hanra!’ Kylen barked. ‘Look before you fire. At this rate you’ll be more danger to our own ships.’

  She headed back towards the jetty. Something told her that the boat brought important news. It had used as little sea-room as possible as it skirted round the headland, indicating it was in a hurry. Yet she forced herself to walk. No sense in raising a panic. The little yacht almost crashed into the jetty in its haste. A man and woman jumped out. They were the guards from the Spur.

  ‘He’s coming,’ the man cried.

  ‘W
ho’s coming?’

  ‘Thorlberd. He’s bringing an armada. We lost count of all the ships, there were so many. They’ve got a dozen migaradons, maybe more. They must be through the Spur by now.’

  ‘Where are Nerika and the others? They were sent with your supplies.’

  ‘We saw no one,’ said the woman with a worried frown.

  ‘We could have passed them in the night,’ her companion suggested. ‘We carried no lights.’

  Even though this was what they had been planning for, Kylen had hoped it would never happen. Suddenly, their preparations seemed flimsy and incomplete. If only they had a few more catapults, or another warship. If wishes were tocrins, we’d all be rich, her father used to say. She must make the most of what she had. They still had a day, maybe two, yet her heart sank. It wouldn’t be enough. She shrugged off her momentary despair. Her first priority was to make sure Zastra’s brother and sister were safe. Right now, they were somewhere in the Serene Sea with only Thorlberd’s fleet for company.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Nerika ordered them back to the yacht.

  ‘Quick as you can,’ she said, ‘and quietly. While the migaradons are chained down you still have a chance.’

  ‘What about you?’ Kastara asked, but Nerika didn’t answer. Instead, she disappeared into the cave that had served as shelter for the lookouts, returning with a crossbow and a full quiver.

  ‘Why are you still here? Get back to Uden’s Teeth and warn the others.’ Nobody moved.

  ‘What about you?’ Kastara repeated slowly. Nerika’s eyes glowed like embers, but Kastara was used to being glared at and she did not flinch. Nerika reached into the quiver and took out a handful of bolts.

  ‘I am going to buy you time. I’ve taken the Obala through that channel many times and the smallest error can leave you scraping the hull against the rock. Make a real mistake and a ship could run aground.’

  Beneath their position, the leading warship entered the channel, carrying only a flap of sail as it inched into the treacherous waters. A leadsman stood at the front with the line, calling back instructions to the helmswoman, who stood rigidly by the wheel, a bright red cap on her head. From this distance, they couldn’t make out the words.

  ‘You plan to shoot the helmswoman,’ Findar stated.

  ‘Never mind what I intend. Once I fire, they’ll know someone is here. You must get out of migaradon range. Once you’re over the horizon it will not come after you. They fear to fly beyond sight of land.’

  ‘But they’ll kill you,’ Kastara said. ‘They’ll have mindweavers. You’ll not be able to protect yourself.’

  ‘And neither will you – three barely trained youngsters.’

  ‘We may be youngsters, but I’m screening you all right now,’ said Myka. Kastara noticed, for the first time, a deep crease between his eyebrows. ‘If we all leave now, we have a chance.’

  Nerika shook her head.

  ‘The lead ship will be through before we can get beyond the horizon. They’ll see us and send a migaradon after us.’

  Kastara shivered. She had seen a migaradon up close and knew what damage they could do.

  ‘I believe I can distract the helmswoman from the yacht,’ said Findar. ‘If Myka can keep screening, they won’t even know it was us.’

  The lead ship inched towards the halfway point, the narrowest part of the channel. Findar was watching the helmswoman with an intense concentration, as if fixing her image in his mind.

  ‘Kylen told me to get you back safe. I won’t give her the satisfaction of failing,’ Nerika insisted.

  ‘If you’re dead, what does it matter what Kylen thinks?’ Kastara pointed out.

  ‘Trust me,’ Findar insisted. His quiet confidence was enough for the others to follow him back to the yacht, even Nerika. Kastara sent out a tentative probe towards Myka and Findar, but she couldn’t find their minds. It was as if they weren’t there.

  ‘Kas, that’s not helping,’ Myka said in a strangled voice.

  ‘I just wanted to know how you were doing it.’

  ‘Oh, so now you want to learn? When I’m using all my strength to keep us hidden, you decide to distract me?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, withdrawing her probe.

  They reached the yacht and cast off. With quick, efficient movements, Nerika unfurled the mainsail. Myka was too busy concentrating to help, so Kastara hurried forward to set the jib. The southeasterly wind was still blowing strongly and with it at their backs, the Spur would soon be behind them. She looked back anxiously. No sign of the leading warship. Or any migaradons. Not yet, at least.

  Findar stood in the cockpit, facing the spur. The nesting cormorants were cawing. A large flock circled close to the cliff, dipping and rising as waves slapped against the rocks below. He reached out to them, projecting the image of the warship and the helmswoman in her bright red cap.

  Invader! She steals your fish. She will murder your hatchlings.

  The cormorants began to squawk in response to his sending, wheeling inland. Findar felt their fear and fuelled it with his own. Through the eyes of the leading bird, he saw a flash of red as the flock attacked. The woman jerked, lifting her arm to cover her face. He saw the ship veer sharply and its hull ground against the edge of the channel. The harsh sound of rock tearing through timber carried to the yacht, as did the huge popping sound that followed.

  ‘Sounds like a mast snapping,’ said Nerika, looking at Findar with respect.

  ‘It is done,’ Findar whispered, suddenly exhausted.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Kylen launched into action, ordering Drazan to take the Daydream out to search for Nerika and the others.

  ‘We must hope they are on their way back. Take a couple of mindweavers with you, but if you see anything that looks like a warship, turn back at once. Don’t waste lives trying to take on a whole fleet by yourself.’

  Yelina arrived with Pitwyn close on her heels. The shocking news from the Spur had travelled fast.

  ‘I need those luggers. Now.’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll see to it at once,’ said Yelina.

  ‘How many other boats do you have?’

  ‘Taking away the three you need for the pontoon, we have fifteen more.’

  ‘Have them work with Pitwyn to ferry oil and stones to both batteries.’

  ‘We don’t have enough ammunition for more than a few broadsides,’ said Pitwyn, for once getting straight to the point. ‘Most of the stones have been used to build the fortress.’

  ‘Then go to Mendoraz and tear down the new jetty. Tear down the great hall if you must, for we are at war.’

  The rest of the day was spent in a whirlwind of preparations. Kylen ordered the batteries to continue to practise, despite their dwindling supply of ammunition. A single well-aimed flurry of rocks would be more use than ten landing harmlessly in empty water. Work on the fortress continued at double pace. The imminence of the threat was a sufficient spur to activity. Pickaxes clanged throughout the day and into the night. The forges too, worked double time, making spearheads, swords, and tips for crossbow bolts, while their carpenters turned their hands to assembling ballista frames. Even children were commandeered, given simpler tasks such as fletching and running messages. At last, everyone on Uden’s Teeth was working together. Another time, such a sight would have brought joy and amazement to Kylen, but she was filled with rising despair. Even working through the night, they wouldn’t be able to buttress the wall or get enough ammunition to the catapults before Thorlberd arrived. If only they had a few more days. Soon, she would need to give the order to man stations but until then every stone they could find, every weapon they could produce, was precious. The light was fading as she strode round the main bay, eager for a progress report on the catapult crews. She took the shortest route, along the waterline, jogging wherever the sand was packed down enough to allow it. She was so busy thinking of all the things she had to do, she didn’t notice the hunched figure paddling happily in the
shallow water until she was on top of him.

  ‘Dobery? What in the stars are you playing at?’

  The mindweaver’s trousers were rolled above his knees. He shuffled his bare feet through the gentle surf and sighed with pleasure. ‘I recommend it. Very relaxing.’ Foaming water swept up the shallow beach and wrapped itself around Kylen’s boots. She stepped back towards the dry sand.

  ‘I don’t have time for idling,’ she said impatiently. ‘Neither should you.’

  ‘I’ve been teaching all day. The eagerness of our pupils has markedly increased since the news from the Spur, but they need to rest if they are to be ready for battle. Let me take pleasure while I still can. War is never kind to the very young, or the very old.’

  ‘The children!’ Kylen exclaimed, slapping her palm against her forehead. ‘I meant to send them away, but with everything else…’

  ‘I’ve already arranged it. Yelina has three luggers waiting at the jetty, and Migala’s nanna is rounding up the children as we speak. She’s agreed to go with them, her and some of the other old folk. They will be in good hands.’

  Kylen blew out her cheeks in relief. ‘I see why Zastra values you so highly.’

  ‘As she does you, Lady Kylen. She would be impressed by what you have achieved here.’

  But Kylen could think only of the hundreds of things still left undone. The unfinished fortress, the catapults without ammunition.

  ‘I wish she was here, Dobery. Even though that would place her in the same terrible danger as the rest of us. Is that selfish?’

  ‘It is natural to wish those we love close by at such times.’

  ‘What would you say to her, if you could talk to her?’ Kylen asked softly.

  ‘I would tell her not to be alone. Leading is a lonely business. I would tell you the same thing Lady Kylen, if I thought you would take advice from a Golmeiran mindfogger.’