Realm of Mindweavers: Book one: Tales of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘It would seem they doubled back,’ said the handler.

  ‘That would make no sense,’ barked Brutila, annoyed that her concentration had been broken. ‘Think, man. Clearly the traitors had help to escape. Their helper thought to fool us and it looks as if he, or she, succeeded. No, we go back to the summit of the valley, where the trail was uncertain. I’ll lay any odds that Leodra’s brats continued east.’

  Retracing their steps, the dogs eventually found a scent leading eastward, down into the next valley.

  ‘Ride,’ ordered Brutila in triumph, gesturing her troops forward. They had wasted considerable time on the detour, but now there was no doubt of the trail.

  *

  Zastra’s lungs were burning and her thighs and arms shaking with exertion. She had reached what she had thought to be the top of the mountain on the far side of the valley, only to see another steep ridge rising to the sky above her. Sighing in dismay, she allowed herself the smallest of rests, using the time to give Findar some food and water. Her baby brother, whose generally docile temperament had been a boon during their long journey from Golmer Castle, was wailing raucously. Zastra could not afford the time to soothe him. Casting a nervous eye back across the valley, she made out a string of tiny figures on the brow, dark outlines against the pale sky. They must be her pursuers. From the south, grey clouds scudded towards them, driven by an ever strengthening wind.

  She heaved Findar back into his sling and continued onwards. As she reached the true summit of the valley, she pulled up short, almost overbalancing. Below her, dislodged stones plunged down a sheer cliff, crashing into the floor of the valley far beneath. Another step and they would have been over! She took a deep breath, trying to quell the tremor of her startled heart. Scanning left and right, it seemed the way north might be passable, although there was no cover for several leagues. There was no time for indecision and, glancing anxiously behind her, she headed in that direction. It was difficult terrain, requiring a good deal of scrambling and climbing, with treacherous loose stones threatening to overbalance her. Zastra recalled a clambering expedition she had enjoyed with her friends, up one of the small outcrops of rock in Highcastle Forest. Then, she had relished the challenge, but that feeling now seemed distant and unreal. Besides, the rocks in Highcastle Forest didn’t compare to the scale of what she was currently facing. Several times, Zastra was forced to traverse the narrowest of ledges, clinging tightly to the rock face, trying to ignore the dizzying drop below her. She could only hope that her pursuers would have similar difficulties.

  Heavy grey clouds hurried the onset of darkening night. Zastra continued as far as she could in the gloom but at last she was forced to halt. Further progress in the dark was impossibly dangerous. In any case, she was worn out, her legs and arms trembling from the efforts of carrying her brother over the difficult terrain.

  She found them some kind of shelter on a relatively flat piece of rock beneath an overhanging ledge. Rummaging in the bag, she discovered that Podrik had packed a change of underwear for Findar, which was sorely needed, along with a thin blanket, and some food supplies. After a small supper, Zastra encased her brother in her arms, covering herself as best she could with the blanket to protect them from the gathering chill. Exhausted, they slept.

  *

  The soldiers murmured in disapproval, but were too frightened to argue. They were to carry on the chase, even as dark descended on the valley. Torches were lit, and the progress continued in the gloom, albeit at a slower pace. The dogs had been put on leashes to prevent them becoming lost in the darkness. They had almost reached the top of the valley when a driving rainstorm extinguished the torches. Brutila gave the command to continue, but the captain refused, claiming the danger made it impossible to continue. Brutila pondered whether to use mindweaving to urge them on, but she could not control the entire troop, and even the dogs were lying down, panting in exhaustion. They would have to halt until the rain stopped, or dawn came. Growling in frustration, Brutila called for a second fur cloak; she did not like the chill that had begun to seep into her bones. An image of another cold mountainside broke out in front of her, and for an instant its white paleness seemed real. She could hear the scratchy sound of a multitude of little claws scrabbling against rock. Quaking, she banished the vision from her mind and waited impatiently for the rain to stop.

  *

  Zastra awoke, shivering. Rain was biting into them and Findar was wailing with strident intensity. It was still utterly dark. She set her back to the rain, protecting her brother by enveloping him in the thin blanket, and tried with little success to go back to sleep. As soon as the first hint of light crept into the sky she rose, stiff and cold, and they continued their journey along the mountainside. The first few hours were the most perilous, the rocks made treacherous and slippery by the rain. Zastra’s cold, cold hands seemed impossibly clumsy, and would not obey her will. At least the rain may have washed away the scent, she thought. It was their only hope.

  *

  The Bractarian troops were underway as soon as dawn broke. The dogs had lost the scent in the rain, but Brutila was confident of their path: upwards and eastwards. The rain continued, fog steaming from the rocks as they reached the summit. An unwary dog bounded over the top and plunged to its death over the vertical cliff that dropped into the valley below. The captain of the troops was still peering cautiously down into the depths as Brutila loomed like a ghoul beside him, her grey uniform camouflaging her against the rock and enveloping mist.

  ‘We cannot see where they went,’ he said, water dripping from his nose. Brutila reached out with her mind but could not find what she was searching for. She called for a draught of cintara and drank it greedily. She felt her strength increase almost instantly. Probing into the mist, she detected a mind more than a league away. She thought she could pick up a glimmer of fear and cold, but the feeling was too faint to locate and receded even as she sensed it.

  ‘We’ll rest and eat,’ she said. A small delay wouldn’t matter now. The children had nowhere to go and no one to help them.

  After a short delay the rain began to lift and a faint glow of pale sunlight seeped through the grey of the clouds. Slowly the valley began to clear. Using a telescope, Brutila scoured the valley in all directions. Finally she found a small scrambling figure moving with painstaking slowness around the northern rim of the valley.

  ‘Move off,’ she ordered, snapping the telescope shut in satisfaction.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Zastra reached the head of the valley. Looking back she could see no pursuers, yet the distant baying of dogs carried to her on the wind. They were closing. Wearily, she turned and looked ahead. She had reached the apex of three valleys. The one she had traversed, one to the northeast and a third valley to the southeast. The lower slopes of the southeast valley were covered in dense woodland and she made for the distant patch of green at the fastest pace she could manage.

  *

  ‘At last!’ exulted Brutila. A dark speck was visible high in the western sky, becoming larger as it closed on them, wings beating with an appearance of laziness. It charted a varied and indirect course, appearing to be searching for something. Brutila sent out a call with her mind. The beast ceased its meandering path and headed straight towards them. The troop had made only slow progress along the valley ridge. They had been forced to leave the horses behind, and the dogs and humans had struggled equally with the treacherous rocks and narrow ledges. Now that the migaradon was here they would have the advantage. The troop cowered in fear as the creature landed next to them, emitting its harsh, high-pitched cry. A black robed, helmeted figure rode on its back, straining hard at the chains that served as reins. The figure made no attempt to dismount.

  ‘You took your time,’ Brutila snapped.

  ‘I had to feed and rest the beast at Lyria, else we would not have had the range. It is always hungry,’ said the faceless rider.

  ‘Waste no more time,’ ordered Brutila. �
�Zastra and the baby. I saw them to the north not two hours ago. They are likely to have reached the head of the valley by now. Find them and bring them back. I want them both alive, but I don’t mind if you have to damage them a little.’ A cruel smirk broke across her scar-ridden face. The helmeted rider nodded and kicked at the dark scales that covered the body of the migaradon. A heavy gust of air was driven down by the powerful wings as the beast rose into the air. Its flight was graceless and laboured, yet it made rapid progress. Reaching the head of the valley, it circled. Not finding what they were searching for, the creature made a wider circle, and then, with a shriek of triumph, it powered off towards the southeast.

  *

  Zastra heard the shrill cry and looked back in horror. A distant speck appeared in the sky behind them, looking like a small bird, but she knew it was no bird. At such a distance, a mere bird would not be visible. She broke into a run. The patch of forest was close now, if only she could reach it in time. Findar began to cry as she jolted him awake in her haste, but she took no notice. She fought the overwhelming desire to look back at the onrushing creature. To do so would slow them down. All too soon, she felt the harsh beating of heavy membranous wings, like the breath of a living thing. Then, as she had been expecting, a searching probe tried to invade her mind. They would never make the trees in time. As the beast swooped, its shadow blotting out the sun, Zastra flung herself behind a large rock, crouching down in its shade. The migaradon’s claws scraped against the rock, only just missing the cowering children. As it wheeled up and round for another attack, Zastra glanced upward at the faceless helmet of the rider. Recalling what Gil had told her, she walled up her conscious thoughts and as she felt the mindweaver’s probe deepen she let loose all her suppressed hurt and sorrow. The loss of her parents, leaving Kastara, the death of Teona and Martek – all of it flooded out. A terrible cry of pain rent the air and the winged beast veered away. Zastra felt the mindweaver’s probe snap away, and without hesitating she dashed towards the safety of the trees, expecting a further attack at any moment. None came.

  They reached the tree line, ducking under its cover. Zastra tripped over a heavy tree root and pitched to the ground. Looking up through the gap in the trees she could make out the migaradon, bucking and screaming in the air. She turned and ran deeper into the forest. As the trees became more densely packed around her, her progress slowed, but at least the canopy of leaves masked the sky. She took a sharp left turn, seeking to throw off her pursuers. Alas, the rider had brought the creature under control and back on their tail. A huge three-fingered claw reached down, raking through the trees to try and grab them, but the canopy was too high and thick to allow it easy entrance, and the claw grasped only leaves and branches. After several futile attempts the migaradon gave up trying to reach them, letting out a cry of anger and frustration. Nevertheless, it continued to follow. The mindweaver made no further attempts to dig into Zastra’s mind. Zastra attempted to dodge and weave but the creature held fast to their tail. Through the thick web of trees she stumbled, half sobbing with weariness. Behind her, the barking of the dogs grew louder. They must have picked up the scent. Zastra’s paced slowed. She was almost spent, unable to move at more than a desperate crawl. To her dismay, she sensed the trees were beginning to thin out, indicating her cover would soon run out. A steep slope reached up in front of her and she attempted to stagger up it.

  ‘I’m sorry Findar,’ she sobbed in utter despair. An answering cry of woe echoed through the forest, somewhere to their left. Zastra moved towards it, drawn by the sympathetic emotion. She almost fell into the hole, weary as she was, scrabbling back just in time. She looked down. At the base of a deep pit stood a fellgryff, bellowing with misery. It looked young, not quite full grown, with a striking circle of darker hair around its neck. Zastra caught its eye, holding its gaze until the proud animal bowed, yielding. She sized up the situation. The fellgryff had been caught in a trap; a sheet covered in soil and leaves, no doubt originally concealing the pit, had been pulled down with it. The animal appeared unhurt, but was making frantic leaps in increasingly desperate attempts to jump out. Zastra looked down with pity. She had no time to stop, but couldn’t bear to leave the creature in such distress. Then a thought struck her. Perhaps if she could free the fellgryff, she could ride it and they might be able to outrun the dogs.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ she said to the fellgryff. Its sentient eyes looked at her, and it lifted its chin as if it was trying to understand. Scattered around the pit were rocks of various sizes. Laying Findar on the ground alongside her bag, Zastra began to hoist up the largest stones she could lift and cast them into the pit, trying not to hit the fellgryff as it shied away.

  ‘I’m trying to help,’ she explained, attempting to soothe the creature. It took many minutes and arm aching exertion before a small pile of rocks had built up. Eagerly, the fellgryff danced onto the pile and made a leap for safety. In spite of a prodigious jump, it fell short and slipped back down into the pit.

  ‘Wait, I’ll find more,’ Zastra cried, scouring around breathlessly. There were only a few more stones, which she threw on top of the existing pile. In despair, she realised it was still not high enough for the fellgryff to escape. The peaty ground gave a little beneath her, giving her an idea. Kicking away the edge of the hole, she was able to dig a small channel at an angle, a small ramp leading down into the pit. A fragment of flat rock helped her dig with increasing frenzy. The baying of the dogs was now so close that they had but a few moments. The channel in the side of the pit was a few feet deep and she pulled back, gesturing at the fellgryff. Understanding her wordless intent, it crouched down and sprang onto the pile of rocks and then up towards Zastra. Its front legs landed in the channel and, with Zastra tugging as hard as she could at the matted hair on its neck, it scrabbled out of the trap. It pranced sideways, shaking off the dirt.

  ‘Please wait,’ cried Zastra, picking up Findar and looking anxiously back down the slope. The first dog raced into view, followed by another, and then the whole pack. Zastra looked at the fellgryff. It bowed its two-pronged head. Using her very last reserves of strength, Zastra sprang onto its back, some kind of muscle memory holding her in place as the creature bucked and sprang into the air.

  ‘There they are!’ The yell came from below. A crossbow bolt ripped through the air. The fellgryff needed no urging to spring away up the hill. Another bolt whipped by them, barely missing Zastra’s ducking head.

  The strong, bucking gait of the fellgryff soon drew them away from the soldiers. Before long the dogs also fell back. Findar howled in distress, the jerking of the fellgryff jolting him most severely but Zastra cried out with relief and exhilaration. However, her joy at their escape was short-lived. The tree canopy began to thin out alarmingly and the migaradon closed in again, sensing that its prey would soon be unprotected. Zastra steered left, trying to stay under the cover of the trees, but could only delay the inevitable. As they shot out of the trees and sprang up the slope towards the top of the mountainside, the migaradon dived down. It reached out with a triumphant yell. The fellgryff sprang sideways, almost throwing Zastra off with the suddenness and force of its movement. The migaradon howled in pain as its claw clashed empty-handed against the rocky mountainside. Ponderously it flapped its huge wings, circling up and round for another run. Again and again it dived down, and each time the fellgryff, with perfect timing and agility, sprang out of its ravening grasp. With a cry of wrath, the migaradon began to lift up large rocks and drop them down at the escapees. One rock shattered on the ground and a wild splinter drew blood from Zastra’s cheek. The fellgryff continued on undaunted, zig-zagging up the steep slope towards the top of the mountain.

  *

  Brutila reached the edge of the tree line and took in the scene: the giant beast chasing a small figure hunched on the back of a strange, ungainly animal. She called with her mind. Obediently the rider directed her mount to wheel back and land next to the grey figure.

  ‘
I’ll do it myself,’ Brutila said, a wet gleam of impatience filling her pale eyes.

  ‘But you are not a rider,’ the mindweaver protested.

  ‘I am fully qualified,’ snapped Brutila. Laying her hand on the bridle, she merged her mind with the beast, quietening its madness. The rider relinquished control with some reluctance.

  ‘It is almost exhausted and will soon need rest and food,’ she warned, but Brutila had already kicked the beast into the air. Minutes later, the migaradon and its new rider had reached the brow of the ridge, just as Zastra and the fellgryff arrived.

  *

  Zastra felt a spear of pain in her head, so harsh as to block out all senses. It had broken through the firm mental wall that had become a constant part of her. She gasped, doubling over in agony. Her training and practice lent her just enough resistance to understand what was happening and prevent her losing consciousness completely, but the massive strength and weight of the attack was much more than any she had felt previously. Using all the mental blocking techniques she could muster, she worked to push back against the silent heaviness that oppressed her. A small window of sight came back to her, a pinprick through a cloud of darkness, but the pain did not diminish. She made out a blurred shadow descending towards her, but she was frozen and the fellgryff, obedient to her will, was stilled likewise. She heard, as if a great distance, the thin wail of a baby crying. ‘Findar,’ she gasped in sluggish recognition. The desire to help her brother broke through her fear and she found her vision clearing a little. The pain in her head dulled slightly, no longer quite crippling, although still debilitating. Everything seemed to be moving much more slowly than normal, and the sounds of the world were dulled, as if shrouded in soft, thick cushions. With painful slowness, she flicked her foot, the movement as difficult as swimming through thick syrup. The fellgryff, released from the thrall that had held it, leapt forward, but it was all an instant too late. A slashing pain ripped into Zastra’s back as one of the migaradon’s claws caught her with a vicious blow.