Realm of Mindweavers: Book one: Tales of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘What happened to Brutila?’ asked Zastra.

  ‘I have only seen her once since that day. She was a woman, prematurely grey, with a terrible scar across her face, but her cold, cruel eyes were unmistakably the same. She was being tried for murder in the Royal Court. Your father had transferred responsibilities of judge to Thorlberd, since he believed that even Brutila deserved a fair trial. He would not risk himself being unconsciously biased against her, due to their past history. However, the evidence was overwhelming; it was proved that she had been working as a hired assassin and had killed several people in return for money. Your uncle had no choice but to declare her guilty and had her transferred to Bractaris for her punishment, which was to be death by poison. We all thought her dead, but it would seem that Thorlberd spared her and engaged her services. Her mindweaving abilities alone would make her a powerful ally. To think that we now have to bow down before such a person.’

  ‘And she knows we were headed in this direction,’ exclaimed Zastra, fear taking a grip on her.

  ‘Worse, I expect her here within the next few days. When I returned, I found a letter from Brutila addressed to me personally, full of threats. It seems she has a strong belief you would make your way here. And she was right.’

  Orwin rubbed his chin nervously.

  ‘You must not be here when she arrives. I will not be able to protect you.’

  Zastra sighed. She had started to enjoy the luxuries of Lyria. Even more precious were the feelings of friendship and belonging that she had begun to feel with Morn and Podrik. It seemed that they must be cast out into the loneliness of the open trail once more.

  ‘What’s to be done?’ asked Morn, frowning.

  ‘Perhaps we can smuggle them out in a log cart and send them down to the port of Castanton. I know a ship’s captain who would take them to the Far Isles in return for a hundred tocrins. Surely that will take them outside of Thorlberd’s reach. But I must consult my wife.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ asked Morn. ‘The fewer people who know, the safer, especially with mindweavers about.’

  ‘She’ll find out, she always does! Trust me it’s the safest option to tell her. And she is always full of good ideas, she may have a better plan.’

  Morn bit her lower lip, but said nothing further. Already she had been dangerously impertinent for a servant but, fortunately for her, Orwin was too full of nervous distraction to have noticed.

  Zastra’s eyelids were drooping heavily and she was almost asleep in her chair. Morn called Podrik in.

  ‘Take Zastra to my room. She needs rest. You should leave Findar with her. Then come back and find me.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  There had been much for Brutila to organise. The uncomfortable experience at Borsha indicated that she would need a personal guard. Although she had lost some time in returning to Riverford for these reinforcements, it was better to be well prepared. Now that she was certain, or at least almost certain, of Zastra’s direction, she could plan a strategy. At Riverford she had found a troop of soldiers waiting for her, sent by Thorlberd. Finton was most obliging, agreeing to release his migaradon with barely a squeak of protest. Messengers were sent ahead to Lyria and the besiegers at Seacastle. A further messenger was sent back to Golmer Castle with the latest news.

  When all was set, Brutila set out along the main road with her troop of fifty Bractarian soldiers. The Riverford migaradon was sent out to scour the route ahead, as well as searching a wide area either side of the road for any sign of the fugitives. Brutila forced a fast pace. There were insufficient horses for the whole troop, so two-thirds of the soldiers were forced to run aside the trotting horses. Only at the point of exhaustion were they allowed to swap places with those on horseback. Brutila allowed only one small diversion. The village of Borsha was set on fire. The wails of the peasants pleased her. They deserved such punishment for their insolence. No house was spared, and the pall of smoke followed the troop along the road.

  Allowing only a few hours rest a night, they travelled quickly. Seven days out of Riverford they came to large village where there was news. Their quarry had been spotted a week previously, on market day. Indeed there had been quite a commotion, with the Kyrgs all fainting and staying asleep for several hours. Brutila read the mind of one of the villagers to confirm the story. Their prey had received a lift from two cloth merchants and headed east.

  Continuing on to Gorst Town, Brutila ordered her soldiers to split up and ask questions at every house and every inn. It didn’t take them long to find the inn where the merchants had stayed, along with a young “boy” and a baby. The innkeeper informed the soldiers that the merchants had continued on the main road after spending just one night. Brutila smirked. Clever boys. The information confirmed that Zastra was still headed east. Lyria and Seacastle remained possible destinations, but she was becoming more and more certain that it was in Lyria that she would find them. She spurred her troop on remorselessly.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Marl Orwin intended to help Zastra if he could, in spite of the risks. However, he was keen to consult his wife, Lichinara. During supper, he was fidgety and nervous, a fact that did not go unnoticed by his observant spouse. A lady of noble birth and no small beauty, she was also shrewd and intelligent and after they had eaten she suggested her husband joined her in her chambers. He agreed with alacrity. As soon as the door to her chamber was closed, she turned her questioning eyes on her husband.

  ‘My dear Orwin, whatever is the matter?’ she demanded.

  ‘Lichinara, my dear one, you had better sit down.’

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  Orwin paced up and down, rubbing his bald head in his characteristically nervous manner.

  ‘Out with it, or by the stars, I’ll…’

  The words burst from his mouth in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘It’s Leodra’s children, they are here!’

  ‘Here, in our castle?’ Lichinara exclaimed in disbelief.

  ‘My dear, please keep your voice down. Yes, they arrived a few days ago. Leodra sent them, saying I would take care of them.’

  ‘The nerve of the man! To put us in the way of such danger. Of course it is impossible.’

  ‘Yes, yes, dear one, I know they cannot stay. But we must help them, poor dears. I owe this much to Leodra.’

  ‘Orwin, how can you be so stupid?’ His wife darted out the words. ‘What about the mindweavers? You could never hide the fact you helped them. That awful Brutila woman is on her way here even now. We have no choice, we must turn them in.’

  Orwin looked at her in horror.

  ‘But they are just children.’

  ‘Children of an old and now defeated regime. It is very sad of course, but there is no helping them. You do not realise how delicate our predicament is. You are known to be a friend of Leodra. Only my advice not to oppose Thorlberd has saved us thus far. This is an opportunity to demonstrate our loyalty.’

  ‘Loyalty?’ cried Orwin. ‘What about our loyalty to Leodra? He was a true friend to us in the past. Remember when we were nearly ousted by that liar, who accused us of treason? Leodra had faith in me and stood by us.’

  He strode distractedly around the room but Lichinara knew her husband and knew he was wavering. She had saved her best argument for this moment.

  ‘Think of me, Orwin, and what they would do to me. Would you throw me to a pack of wild caralyx? For that is what would happen once that woman comes and reads your mind. Have pity. Have I not been a good wife to you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, my dear one. Of course. But it just seems wrong.’

  ‘All of Golmeira is wrong at present, we are not to blame.’

  There was a lengthy pause, while Orwin continued to pace up and down. His wife left him to his thoughts. Only when she judged the time was right did she speak again.

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Asleep, down in the kitchens.’

  ‘I suggest you send a guard im
mediately and secure them. We can send word to Brutila, and hand them over when she gets here.’ The two thousand tocrins wouldn’t go amiss either, she thought to herself. Seeing her husband still hesitate, she continued.

  ‘It will be better if you do it, Orwin. At least there will be some dignity for them.’

  He wished to believe her, but knew too well the consequences of his betrayal.

  ‘At least let them sleep tonight,’ he pleaded. ‘The gates are locked. They could not escape even if they wanted to. Tomorrow will come soon enough for the poor things.’

  Lichinara knew when she had won. ‘Of course,’ she conceded graciously.

  *

  Zastra was in the midst of a nightmare. She was in Lyria Castle, but surrounded by circling migaradons ridden by faceless figures in black cloaks. She found herself roused, not knowing where she was. A strong hand over her mouth caused her to rear back in panic.

  ‘P-please…’ a soft voice pleaded.

  ‘Podrik?’ she whispered, as the rushing sound in her head subsided.

  ‘C-come. You must leave tonight. Right now.’

  Quickly awake, she peered blindly into the dark.

  ‘Findar?’

  ‘H-here, and some clothes too,’ the disembodied voice whispered, handing her a soft bundle.

  Once she was ready he tugged on her arm and indicated she should follow him.

  ‘What about Orwin?’ she asked.

  ‘No good. You’re to be handed over t-t-tomorrow. M-ma told me to hide in my Lady’s rooms and listen. I h-heard them.’

  Podrik led Zastra down a spiral staircase. At the bottom he paused briefly to pick up a length of thick rope and slung it over one shoulder.

  ‘This way,’ he whispered, guiding her around unseen obstacles until they arrived at a barred window through which the clear night sky and stars could be seen. A thin sliver of Horval, the larger of the twin moons, was also visible. Below the window was a drop into impenetrable darkness. They were at the rear of the castle, facing the steep mountainside from which it had been carved. Podrik secured the rope against one of the bars and then, using his good arm, he jiggled another bar until it came out of its sockets. The gap between the remaining bars was just wide enough for a child. Zastra could make out the whiteness of his teeth as he grinned and gestured downwards.

  ‘You first. I’ll follow.’

  Hoisting Findar round in his sling so that she was carrying him on her back, Zastra grabbed the rope and shimmied down quickly. Podrik, being larger, had some trouble squeezing through the gap in the bars. Zastra watched in amazement as he slid expertly down the rope, using only his good arm to slow his descent.

  He reached out to take Findar. Zastra flinched and he pulled back his arms as if they had touched a hot pan.

  ‘I’m s-s-strong. C-c-can c-carry, we go f-faster?’ he gasped. With some reluctance, Zastra let him take Findar, and Podrik strode off into the dark. He seemed sure of his way, keeping up a good pace. Zastra stayed close behind, using the shadow of his misshapen form as her guide.

  They were panting heavily as they reached the summit of the mountain, just as dawn was breaking. Zastra looked back as the warm glow of the rising sun began to spread across the floor of the valley below. Lyria castle was still in shadow, and she wasted no time looking for it.

  ‘Pretty,’ said Podrik, smiling with satisfaction, as if he had created the valley and the morning sun himself.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ said Zastra.

  ‘A good way to escape from Terlan,’ he grinned, his stutter gone now that they were safely away from the castle. Findar was awake and crying for food. Podrik led them down to a freshwater spring and dug into the bag he was carrying, bringing out a pot, together with Zastra’s fire-ring and some oats. They made porridge and ate a hasty breakfast. A distant sound reached them, carried faintly on the wind from the Lyria valley; a mixture of horns and barking dogs. Podrik and Zastra looked at each other in alarm. No words were needed. They packed up hurriedly and made their way back to the top of the mountain. Lyria Castle, now bathed in light, was alive and crawling with soldiers and horses.

  ‘I guess they know we’re gone,’ said Zastra.

  ‘I can come with you,’ Podrik suggested, head cocked to one side.

  Zastra shook her head, gently taking Findar from him. ‘I couldn’t wish for a stronger or braver companion,’ she said, ‘but I cannot ask you to share this with us. You have already risked too much for our sakes.’

  Podrik looked as if he might argue, if only he could find the words or the courage.

  ‘Morn needs you, Podrik,’ said Zastra, ‘and it’s good for me to know we have friends who are safe. Friends I can count on if ever I need them.’

  A smile burst across Podrik’s broad face. ‘No one has ever called me a friend before,’ he beamed.

  ‘Well, that’s because they don’t know you like we do,’ said Zastra.

  Podrik shuffled his feet, clearly unused to compliments. He was unable to look at her as he handed her the bag.

  ‘I packed it myself,’ he said. ‘I’ll run around, throw the dogs off. Be careful. Follow the streams, they’ll lead you up the mountains and hide your scent.’ He blushed furiously as Zastra gave him hug. She started down the slope into the next valley. Looking back, she saw that he stayed on the mountain ridge for some time, watching them, before running off.

  *

  Zastra reckoned they had maybe six hours head start, but with horses and dogs their pursuers would soon gain. Findar had taken this opportunity to start screaming, and Zastra felt sure the noise must carry down to Lyria Castle. She scrambled down the mountain, following the narrow gully of a stream. She was on an open rocky scree, bare and exposed. The entire valley in front of her was dry and sparse, with little cover. Beyond the ridge marking the far side of the valley, she could see a green swathe of forest; somewhere to hide if only they could get to it. She had seen no sign of a migaradon but surely it was only a matter of time. They knew where she was now, thanks to Orwin’s betrayal. With despair threatening to choke her heart, she hurried on. She no longer had any destination to aim for, but she vowed to Findar that she would keep running, though her lungs might burst.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Brutila screamed in frustration at the sight of the rope and the gap between the bars. The mice had slipped the trap. She looked in disgust at the cowering figure of Marl Orwin. His whole body shook with fear. Well, let him shake. He’d had the traitors within his grasp and had let them get away. Following her instincts, she had headed to Lyria, arriving at the castle just after dawn to find the place in an uproar. Orwin’s mind had revealed everything. The entire castle had been searched and it was clear that the children, asleep and innocent not twelve hours before, had escaped. She cast a frosty glance towards the top of the mountain. At least the horses and dogs were already prepared. If only the migaradon were here. They had left it at Gorst Town, needing rest and food, but she had ordered it to follow them as soon as it was able.

  She called forward the soldier who was responsible for carrying her personal belongings. This was the end game, and she needed to be at the height of her powers. After drinking down a large dose of cintara bark, she called for a horse and rode out at the front of her troop. She could not see the fugitives, but the dogs had picked up the scent and were racing up the mountainside. She spurred on her horse, following the dogs as keenly as if she herself had scented their quarry.

  Shortly before noon they arrived at the top of valley of Lyria. Here, the scent seemed confused, the dogs pausing and sniffing around in circles.

  ‘What’s occurring?’ demanded Brutila.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ replied the dog handler nervously. ‘They must have stopped here, or tried to put the dogs off. We’ll soon pick up the trail.’

  As if on cue, the dogs formed an arrowhead and raced off northwards along the top of the ridge. The troop followed, struggling to keep up with the excited dogs as the
y pounded along the sloping ridge.

  ‘We must be close now,’ puffed the handler as the baying of the dogs increased in volume. Sure enough, the dogs paused at the foot of a small outcrop of rock and raised themselves on their hind legs, scrabbling upwards against the steep rock face in a frenzy of excitement.

  ‘Look!’ exclaimed one of the guards, pointing upwards. A leather strap was visible, jutting out over the top of the overhang. There was no easy way up to the top of the cliff.

  If only the migaradon were here, thought Brutila, staring at the sky in frustration. She sent up two of her most agile soldiers. The smooth rock made the ascent treacherous, and the heavier of the soldiers lost his grip, falling to the ground with a sickening thump. Brutila paid no attention to his screams of agony, tapping her grey-gloved hand against her thigh with impatience. The first soldier reached the top.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ she called down, holding up the bag. Reaching inside, she brought out a large chunk of sausage. The baying of the dogs doubled.

  ‘You fool,’ cried Brutila, glaring at the handler.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll find the trail again,’ he spluttered, tugging desperately at something in his backpack; a sheet they had taken from the bed Leodra’s children had slept in. He gave the scent to the dogs. However, the dogs appeared confused and unsure. Many seemed eager to return down the valley. Brutila closed her eyes, opening her mind to communicate with the lead dog. The scent leading back down the valley was not the same as the one on the bedsheet.