Warrior of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘We have to help them!’ cried Findar.

  ‘All hands make sail.’ Mata strode to the helm. ‘Cut the anchor. Set course to ram the flagship.’

  Some of the crew were so dazed and battle weary they needed grabbing by the arm and directing to their posts. There was no sign of Kendra. Torvin slid down the ratlines to help. Within a few moments the anchor line was cut and they began to make way.

  ‘Kastara, deflect anything that gets in our way,’ Mata commanded.

  Kastara moved toward the foredeck, stepping over the bodies of the dead and wounded. The quarterdeck of a warship lay across their path so she sent out her shield and pushed. The vessel swung round, and they bumped sides as they went past. Enemy soldiers tried to leap across the gap, but Kastara repelled them. Zastra’s lugger was slowing, its foresail punctured in three places and the hull badly damaged. Every enemy ship in the bay was targeting it with their catapults, yet the little lugger continued gamely on through the plumes of water raised by the falling rocks. Kastara realised she was holding her breath.

  ‘I hope Orika realises we’re not the enemy,’ Myka said morosely. Kastara jumped. She hadn’t realised he was so close. Findar was beside him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Next to you seems like the safest place,’ Myka remarked.

  ‘What about the mindweavers?’ Only then did Kastara realise that there was no longer any pressure on her mind.

  ‘My guess is they’re focussed on Zastra and Orika. They’ve finally realised their danger.’

  The lugger began to judder and shake as it neared the flagship. A horizontal crack appeared just above the waterline and a large section of deck snapped upwards.

  ‘It’s breaking apart!’ Kastara cried in horror.

  ‘Orika’s losing it,’ said Findar grimly. ‘They’ll never make it.’

  ‘We can’t hold them!’ Polina cried, in anguish. ‘Every black raven in range is attacking us.’

  A large boulder slammed into the sea just off their starboard quarter, sending water crashing over them. Kayled screamed and dived overboard but Zastra kept them on a direct course for the flagship. Polina and Waylin collapsed onto what remained of the deck. Without their protection, Zastra felt a dozen mindweavers tearing greedily at her and Orika’s joined consciousness. The pain was blinding. Orika screamed and Zastra felt a shockwave rip through her mind. The probes of the black ravens snapped away, but Orika’s uncontrolled burst of power shattered their own masts. Jagged cracks opened up across the deck. The lugger lurched alarmingly and slewed round. A migaradon dived towards them. Zastra tried to react, but Orika’s panic flapped like a trapped bird against her ribcage and she couldn’t move, watching helplessly as the migaradon reached down and ripped the lugger in half. Zastra retained barely enough presence of mind to grab Orika before the lugger disintegrated and they were plunged into the chilly water of the bay. The hull of the flagship loomed above them, planks popping outwards as Orika thrashed wildly.

  ‘I can’t swim!’

  ‘It’s all right, Orika. I’ve got you.’

  But Orika lost what remaining control she had. Weighed down by Orika’s fear, Zastra could do nothing as the waters closed over their heads.

  The prong of a grapnel dug into her armpit and Zastra was hauled upwards and flung onto the deck of the flagship like so much baggage. Beside her, Orika choked on seawater. Zastra’s lungs burned as she felt Orika’s every cough and splutter as if it were her own.

  ‘Kill the Southlander before she does any more damage.’

  Zastra recognised the voice. She was on the flagship, after all. She lifted her head. They were encircled by soldiers and black ravens. Towering above them was Thorlberd, his stare flat and angry. Next to him, a young man with curly hair seemed familiar. Zastra remembered metal chains, tightening around her neck. She clawed at her throat but there was nothing there. It was just a memory. The man narrowed his eyes.

  ‘No!’ Zastra cried, diving desperately towards Orika, but she was too late. A spear plunged into Orika’s breast. With their minds still joined, Zastra felt the impact as if the spear had entered her own body. Intense pain spread across her chest and then a terrible emptiness. For a moment, Zastra thought she, too, was dead.

  ‘Bring my niece.’

  Two Kyrgs dragged Zastra towards her uncle. Seawater dripped from her hair onto her eyelids, but her hands were pinned to her sides and she could not wipe it away. Thorlberd drew his sword, its long blade highly polished and reflecting the strange golden glow of the sky.

  ‘It is time to finish this. You shall meet the same fate as your father.’

  Rage awoke something inside her.

  ‘And my mother. Don’t forget her.’ A strange look darkened Thorlberd’s face as he leaned forward and whispered in her ear so that only she could hear.

  ‘She has been my only weakness. I will not permit another.’

  He stepped back and raised the sword two-handed above her head.

  ‘Hold her down. It is time to cut the head from this rebellion.’

  Zastra was forced down onto her knees. She closed her eyes and waited for the blade to drop.

  The Wind of Golmeira ploughed into the flagship. Their bowsprit ran through the hull of their target and burst through the deck. The impact of the collision knocked everyone off their feet. A block and tackle crashed onto the deck, narrowly missing Mata.

  ‘Now!’ cried Findar. Kastara looked at him, confused.

  ‘Now what?’ she asked.

  Two blue eagles dived at Thorlberd, talons tearing at his face. He swung his arms blindly, still holding his sword, but the birds were inside his guard. The two Kyrgs holding Zastra dropped her and went to help the grand marl as blood poured down his cheeks. One of the eagles pecked at his eyes and he roared in agony.

  ‘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 bones 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-t
oothed 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.