Jelgar began.
‘I will speak plainly,’ he said. ‘I am allied with Thorlberd. You are his enemy. Therefore, you are my enemy.’
He drew one of his scythals out of its scabbard and rested it across his lap. It was not a promising beginning. Zastra opened out her palms.
‘I too will speak plainly. I grew up hating Kyrginites. I was taught that you were cannibals and savages. When you helped overthrow my father, that hatred only burned stronger.’
Her words drew an intake of breath from her mother. Zastra blinked and continued.
‘Ithgol showed me I was wrong.’
Jelgar did not so much as glance towards Ithgol.
‘Why did you come?’
‘To help you. You are slaves and you do not know it.’ A low rumble of discontent spread around the assembled Kyrgs.
‘Lies!’ said Brutila. ‘It is a trick, Jelgar. Do not listen.’
‘It is no trick. These mindweavers control you.’
‘Nobody controls a Kyrginite chieftain.’ Jelgar crushed air with his fist.
The rumbling grew more threatening. Findar reached out and gripped Zastra’s arm. The Kyrgs were ready to erupt, yet she must twist the knife.
‘Ithgol has told me of your ways. By Kyrginite tradition, the chief guthan leads his men in battle. Yet I do not recall seeing you at Uden’s Teeth.’
Shouts broke out and many of the Kyrgs jumped to their feet, their faces murderous. Jelgar held up his hand. The hush was instant.
‘You accuse me of being a coward?’ His voice could have ground rocks to dust.
‘Ithgol has shown me that Kyrgs are no cowards.’ Zastra kept her voice even. ‘Your absence from battle is proof of what I say. Tell me, what has Thorlberd given you in return for the lives of your menfolk?
‘In return?’ Jelgar frowned.
‘Thorlberd could never have taken Golmeira or Sendor without your help. But what do you gain by it?’
There was a silence. Lungrid turned towards Jelgar. ‘We women have often wondered,’ she said. ‘But it is not our role to question the will of the chief guthan.’ Jelgar stared at the mat as if he was trying to dig out the answer.
‘This war is righteous,’ he said. ‘Vital to secure the future of the Kyrginite nation.’
‘How so?’ Zastra asked.
‘There was money,’ Jelgar said uncertainly. ‘Twenty thousand tocrins.’
‘Where is it?’
A thick vein rose up beneath the tattooed skin on Jelgar’s temple.
‘Don’t listen to these lies,’ said Brutila. Beside her, Higina licked her lips. Lungrid sniffed the air as if hunting for a spoor. She turned towards the plump mindweaver, whose face was popping with beads of sweat.
‘This one stinks of fear.’
‘Would you really trade lives for money?’ Zastra continued. ‘All the tocrins in Golmeira will not keep the winter away.’
Without warning, Lungrid lifted her spear and struck out at Zastra, her eyes clouded and blank. Zastra had been alert, waiting for something like this. Stiff-armed, she parried the stem of the spear, diverting the tip away from her neck. With a twist of her body, she wrenched the spear from Lungrid’s grasp.
‘It’s Brutila!’ exclaimed Findar, leaping up. ‘She made Lungrid do it!’
‘Block her,’ Zastra commanded. An instant later, Lungrid’s eyes cleared. She looked at her spear, which was still in Zastra’s hands, and then examined her own empty palms.
‘I am dishonoured,’ she whispered.
‘No,’ said Zastra, returning the spear. ‘Golmeiran treachery is to blame.’ She turned back to Jelgar.
‘They have been controlling you just like they did Lungrid. We can make it stop. Kastara, you know what to do.’
Her sister closed her eyes for a short moment.
‘It is done,’ she said.
‘I did not feel anything.’ Jelgar was unconvinced.
‘What about your alliance with Thorlberd? Do you still feel the same way?’
After a moment’s consideration, Jelgar leapt to his feet.
‘Treachery!’ he roared.
‘Mercy!’ cried Higina, backing away. ‘Thorlberd made us do it.’
‘Quiet, you fool!’ Brutila snapped, but too late. Higina’s desperate pleadings had the opposite effect to what she intended. They amounted to an admission of guilt. Every Kyrg in the rondavel leapt to their feet. Scythals were ripped free of their scabbards.
‘Stop!’ commanded Lungrid. ‘They are women. It is my place to judge them, not yours.’
Higina was already halfway to the door, Kyrginite warriors and hunters collapsing in front of her. Lungrid launched her spear. The point disappeared between Higina’s shoulder blades. The mindweaver crashed to the ground, stone dead.
‘To run is not honourable,’ Lungrid remarked. ‘She sealed her own fate.’ She turned towards Brutila. Anara rose and placed herself between them.
‘Lungrid, I beg you let your justifiable anger settle before you pass sentence on Brutila. She is only a soldier, obeying orders.’
‘I don’t ask you to plead for me,’ Brutila snarled. Lungrid studied Anara for a moment.
‘You would spare this spy?’ Jelgar knuckles cracked as he closed one hand around the other.
‘Do not interfere, Jelgar,’ said Lungrid. ‘Lady Anara is right. Anger is not a wise judge. Put Brutila in the dry well until I am ready to decide her fate.’ A dozen hunters surrounded Brutila and bound her arms.
‘I’ll go with them to make sure Brutila doesn’t use her powers to escape,’ offered Kastara, following the hunters as the scar-faced mindweaver was dragged away. The Kyrg with the black cheek broke from the crowd.
‘You have failed us, Jelgar,’ he growled. ‘I invoke the right of challenge.’
Jelgar’s eyes glowed. ‘With pleasure, Tholgrad,’ he replied. His shoulders relaxed as as if he welcomed the challenge as the most precious of gifts.
Chapter Fifty-one
The Krygs funnelled out and headed towards a hollowed-out piece of ground beyond the buckthorn plantation where, according to Lungrid, the challenge would take place. A fight until either Jelgar or Tholgrad yielded or was killed. Outsiders were not permitted and so Zastra and the others stayed behind. Lungrid remained with them and sent some of her attendants to fetch food and drink. Two warriors stayed to guard Ithgol, who remained bound hand and foot.
‘That was bravely done, Zastra,’ said Anara. Zastra’s stomach lurched.
‘Not sure if it was brave or simply stupid.’ She hurried out of the rondavel and sucked in the freezing air, hoping to quell her nausea. A soft touch between her shoulder blades made her skin tingle.
‘Zastra, dearest, come back inside. This cold can be deathly before you realise.’
‘I should never have brought the twins. Everything’s spinning out of control.’
‘I cannot share your regret. It is a wonderful gift to see my babies grown up so strong, so beautiful. And you, Zastra. Oh, if only I had known…’
‘You were alive.’ Zastra swallowed. ‘All this time, you were alive?’
Anara reached tentatively towards her, but she stepped out of her mother’s reach. Things were too delicately poised for her to lose focus. The last of the Kyrgs disappeared into the dip.
‘You’re right of course,’ she said stiffly.
‘About what?’
‘It is cold.’ Zastra stepped around Anara and headed back into the rondavel.
‘So, it’s true,’ Lungrid said as they re-entered. ‘All this time we’ve been had for fools. I once asked Jelgar why he pledged his warriors to a war that never seemed to end, but he reminded me that I was still young for a chief guthene and had much to learn. To my shame, I raised no questions.’
‘It is difficult to break tradition,’ said Anara, her voice strained. ‘Especially for someone recently elected to power.’
‘Who do you think will win?’ Zastra asked.
‘Jelgar is among the bes
t warriors we’ve ever had, but he is no longer young.’
Either way, Zastra worried that they were in trouble. She had publicly shamed Jelgar, which would hardly dispose him to think well of her, but when she recalled Tholgrad and his whispered threats, her skin crawled. She turned to Findar.
‘If this goes badly…’ she began. Her brother held up his hand to stop her.
‘Don’t worry about us. We have our special powers, remember. Kastara’s are pretty awesome, though don’t tell her I said so.’
‘Don’t tell me what?’ asked Kastara, that moment returned from helping the Kyrgs secure Brutila.
‘Nothing,’ Findar said. He and Zastra shared a smile.
‘What have they done with Brutila?’ asked Anara.
‘She’s safely stowed at the bottom of an old well,’ Kastara reported. ‘I instructed the Kyrgs to stay out of mindweaving range.’
‘Poor Brutila. She suffers so from the cold.’
Zastra frowned. ‘If you knew what Brutila tried to do to me and to Findar, you would have less sympathy.’
‘Brutila is a damaged soul,’ said Anara, ‘but I believe there is good in her.’
‘If so, it is buried deep and well hidden.’
‘Zastra, my love, you used to have an open, loving heart. I hope that has not changed.’
‘Much has happened since we last saw each other,’ Zastra said stiffly. ‘I’m no longer the girl you knew.’
‘Yes, I can see that.’ Anara’s eyes glistened and Zastra was grateful for the distraction of the food arriving, even though it was basic fare. Roots and bitter berries had been ground together in a thick soup. The Kyrg who served her was missing two fingers on one hand. Both attendants kept their heads bowed, unwilling to make eye contact. Zastra wondered at their behaviour, so different from the proud bearing of the warriors and hunters. Anara had barely dipped her spoon in her bowl before Findar and Kastara bombarded her with questions.
‘Let our mother eat in peace,’ Zastra said.
‘I don’t mind.’ Anara set aside her bowl. ‘I know you must have many questions, as do I.’
She told them that days after Thorlberd’s ascension, she had been smuggled away to Bractaris Castle.
‘I remember little of that time. Thorlberd made me watch Leodra’s execution and told me you were all dead too. It was many months before I even knew where I was.’
‘Why did he let you live?’ Kastara asked. ‘Didn’t you try to escape?’
Anara tapped her fingers fretfully against the side of her bowl.
‘I hadn’t the strength to do anything but survive. Besides, what was the point of escape when everyone I loved had been killed? Perhaps if I had known you were alive… But Thorlberd was very convincing.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Something I could never give.’
Anara’s finger tapping grew faster. She has been my one weakness.
‘He loved you,’ Zastra said, in shocked disbelief.
‘In his own way.’ Anara flushed. ‘He offered me… many things, all of which I refused. When he finally realised I was not to be moved, he sent me here. ‘
‘He couldn’t bring himself to kill you.’
Kastara shuddered. ‘Sending you to this place was punishment enough.’
‘Perhaps it was meant as such, but it gave me something to live for. A purpose. Now, what about all of you? How did you survive? What have you been doing?’
Findar told her about living with Zastra and Dalbric in the mountains until Zastra had been conscripted into Thorlberd’s fleet. Then, years later, how Brutila had captured him and tried to convince him to change sides. Kastara told her mother about growing up in the bakery, not knowing who she really was until Zastra and Kylen had found her and brought her back to Uden’s Teeth. Together they told her about the community there and of the recent battle, falling over each other in their eagerness to talk. Anara listened with the same fond patience that Zastra remembered from her childhood, although her honey-coloured hair was now traced through with grey and there were lines on her face that hadn’t been there before. Kastara and Findar clung to her, revelling in the miracle of her presence. Zastra envied them their happiness. They were yet to learn that such joy always led to pain. She didn’t realise she had been staring until Anara roused her with a question.
‘So Thorlberd is really dead?’ she asked. Zastra nodded.
‘We were not informed of this,’ Lungrid said with a frown. The canvas door was drawn back and Jelgar limped in, bringing a blast of icy wind with him. His left eye was closed to a slit, the skin around it swollen and purple like an overripe pani-fruit. Yet he moved with purpose.
‘Hail, Chief Guthan Jelgar,’ said Lungrid, formally. ‘I would not have enjoyed dealing with Tholgrad. Did he survive?’
‘He lives,’ said Jelgar, rubbing his hands together. It was a different Jelgar to the one who they had first met. He was relaxed, almost happy. ‘But he should be glad we do not have a culling ceremony this year.’
His eyes searched out Zastra.
‘Now we talk,’ he said.
Chapter Fifty-two
Everyone was sent away, except Ithgol and Lungrid. Jelgar grabbed a bowl of lukewarm stew, tilted his head back and gulped it down.
‘What happened to discussing everything in the open?’ Zastra asked.
‘Kyrgs don’t make the same mistake twice.’ Jelgar burped and thumped his chest.
‘I am sorry if I embarrassed you, but you deserved to know the truth.’
‘The truth serves you as much as it does me, I think.’
Zastra dipped her forehead in acknowledgement.
‘So, what do you want?’
‘Two things,’ Zastra said. ‘First, I ask that you pardon Ithgol. He chose love of his sister over his own life. Does he really deserve to die for it?’
‘Our laws are clear.’ Jelgar clenched his jaw. ‘The Culling is our most ancient and important ceremony.’
‘Yet perhaps we may dream of a future without such dark traditions,’ said Lungrid. ‘Now that Lady Anara has taught us to cultivate our own crops.’
‘Your own family did not flinch to make sacrifice when it was needed. Your mother accepted her fate with courage. Would she want this man pardoned?’
‘Would that I could ask her,’ Lungrid said quietly.
‘It is true that he violated your laws of obedience,’ said Zastra. ‘But Thorlberd used those laws against you. Perhaps they need looking at.’
‘You mentioned two requests,’ said Jelgar. Zastra explained her plan to retake Sendor and Golmeira. He snorted.
‘You also wish Kyrgs to die for you?’
‘Unlike Thorlberd, I offer you something valuable in return. A gift of land.’
‘Pah!’ exclaimed Lungrid. ‘She is like the thief who brings back pilfered goods to sell back to those she robbed. Do you offer to return the lands that Fostran stole?’
Zastra hesitated.
‘I cannot give back the Helgarths. Our people have been settled there for generations. To force them to move would be unfair and only create new conflict. We have discovered land just as fertile to the west of Aliterra.’
Jelgar’s fists began to clench again. ‘You want to trick us into abandoning what little we have left? Never!’
‘Don’t be so hasty, Jelgar,’ said Lungrid. ‘There are many of us who would prefer not to have to murder our own to survive. Zastra, you say this land is fertile?’
‘Yes. Some of the forest will need to be cleared for crops but the soil is good, and the climate is better than here.’
‘She speaks truth,’ said Ithgol. ‘I have seen it myself.’
‘You have no right to speak, Mordaka,’ Jelgar snarled. Zastra rose to her feet.
‘My offer only stands if Ithgol is set free. Otherwise, we are done.’
‘You would place such value on the life of a Kyrginite?’ Lungrid was unable to hide her surprise.
‘He is my friend,’ Zastra s
aid. ‘And you should be grateful to him. He brought me here so we could release Jelgar’s mindlock even knowing his fate.’
‘I will consider your offer,’ said Jelgar.
‘As will I,’ Lungrid added. ‘You lead the warriors, Jelgar, but this decision will affect all our people.’
Zastra returned to Anara’s rondavel as snow began to fall, slowly at first, but then heavier, leaving a white dusting across the valley. She hoped it would not last. She couldn’t afford winter to come early. Not when things looked as if they might finally be going her way.
Chapter Fifty-three
Zastra’s optimism turned out to have been as misplaced as a Kyrginite at a dinner party. The Kyrgs debated her offer for two days with no sign of a decision. Meanwhile, Ithgol remained a prisoner. Findar and Kastara spent every moment they could with their mother, gathering buckthorn and even offering to accompany her when she visited Brutila. Zastra could not fathom why her mother wasted time on someone like Brutila, but every day, without fail, Anara took food and drink to the prisoner.
At last the summons came. Once more, Jelgar’s rondavel was filled with Kyrgs. Tholgrad leered at her as she went past, one arm in a splint, his thick neck circled in a purple bruise. He seemed pleased about something. Jelgar, as usual, wasted no time in small talk.
‘My people are distrustful of Golmeirans,’ he began.
‘After what has happened, you cannot blame us,’ added Lungrid.
‘For Zastra to lead us in battle, she must prove herself worthy. She must seek the wisdom of the Warrior Mountain.’
‘You cannot ask this,’ Ithgol protested. ‘Not with winter coming.’
‘The fires are not yet lit. It will be a month before the pass closes.’
Anara had gone deathly pale. ‘I beg you, do not ask this of my daughter,’ she said.
‘The warriors and hunters are agreed,’ Lungrid insisted. ‘This journey will show Zastra what it means to be Kyrginite. After such a lesson, she will not betray us.’
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