Chapter Twenty-four
It had not been a good day for Grindarl, newly promoted Lieutenant of the Bractarian guards. Not only had they had trouble with one of the migaradons which had, for no good reason, flown into the northwest tower and caused considerable damage as well as nearly throwing its rider, but worse, there was still no news of Leodra’s children. It had been six days since they had slipped past the gatehouse guards and the mindweavers who had been ordered to apprehend them, and he was due to report to the grand marl. Thorlberd would not be happy with the lack of progress. Grindarl had earned his promotion in the fight for Golmer Castle, where his cunning plan to lace the drinks of Leodra’s guards during Rastran’s birthday party had considerably weakened resistance to the coup. He had no intention of losing out now; he would have to find those children. Surely then a further promotion would be forthcoming. A chiming bell interrupted his thoughts, indicating that the time had come for him to make his report. He went to the grand marl’s offices with some trepidation.
Thorlberd was in deep conversation with a group of ministers. A grey figure was seated in the far corner of the room, half obscured in shadow. Thorlberd dismissed his attendants and turned his intense gaze upon the lieutenant.
‘Well, Grindarl?’
‘No word as yet, my lord. We’ve searched everywhere within ten leagues of Golmer Castle, with no luck. The huge reward has not helped. Indeed, many people have wasted our time by turning in their own families and friends. We have investigated hundreds of children, but all have been accounted for.’
‘Not good enough,’ bellowed the new grand marl. ‘We must find those children. I made this clear to you – I will not tolerate failure. It seems that you are not up to the task.’
He glanced towards the seated figure. A woman, strongly built, with cropped hair speckled in various shades of grey, moved towards the light with the menace and constrained grace of a she-caralyx. Grindarl gasped involuntarily. A fearful scar ran across the woman’s face, from the right ear to the mouth, an icy white track against an already pale backdrop. The woman grinned at Grindarl’s response. She was well used to such reactions. The mouth and scar melded together, giving the appearance of a lopsided grin across the face, but the mirthless smile did not reach the pale grey eyes, which were cold and amphibious. Too late, Grindarl became aware of a flash of metal swiftly followed by a searing pain in his chest. The shock barely had time to register in his eyes before his life was extinguished. The grey woman stepped back, cleaning her knife, taking great care to avoid staining her hands, which were protected by gloves of soft grey leather.
‘Good, Brutila,’ said Thorlberd, looking with disgust at the heap in front of him. ‘I’ve allowed this to slip for too long. Findar and Kastara must be found. They will be key to our success. The blood tests revealed that both twins will have great power.’
‘Blood tests?’
‘One of my scientists recently developed a test that can determine whether a child will be a mindweaver, even before they reach the age at which abilities are manifest. It requires a small sample of blood, which I was able to obtain from the twins, although Zastra and her friend nearly caught me in the act, the babies screamed so much from the pin-prick.’
‘What will you do with them?’
‘When we find them, we will keep them close and supervise their education. As they grow up, they will think it natural to join us. They will become our strongest allies. However, we must get them before others can teach them to hate us.’
‘And what about the girl, Zastra?’ asked the woman in a husky tone.
‘She must be eliminated to maintain order,’ said Thorlberd. ‘She could act as a rallying point for resistance. I take no pleasure in it, but unfortunately it is necessary. All my resources are at your disposal. You shall carry the title of master at arms and I shall give you my personal seal.’
Brutila smirked. ‘You should have asked me in the first place, rather than this imbecile,’ she said, nudging the body of Grindarl with her foot. ‘I hope you don’t doubt me, Thorlberd.’
‘Your loyalty and efficiency I have no concerns about. However, I thought your personal hatred of my brother might cloud your judgement. Remember, I want the twins alive.’
‘You should not have denied me my request to dispose of Leodra personally. I would have taken much pleasure in it.’
‘I owed it to my brother to allow him a dignified death,’ said Thorlberd.
‘Sentimentality is weakness, my lord. We’ve always agreed on that.’
‘Do not mistake my words for weakness, Brutila. I did what had to be done.’
‘And that pathetic little Anara too?’
Thorlberd gave her a dark look.
‘Yes,’ he said bluntly. ‘I suggest you leave before I lose patience and arrange for you to share Grindarl’s fate. You have your orders.’
Dismissed, the grey-haired woman left to stalk her prey. She sought out Strinverl, the new highmaster of mindweavers, entering his rooms without ceremony. The gaunt man jumped up as she entered, but the sight of her scarred face stopped any protest at the intrusion before he could utter it.
‘Any news of the brats?’ asked Brutila, not bothering with the niceties of introductions. Strinverl shook his head nervously.
‘Not a whisper in the essence has been detected since Thorlberd’s victory.’
‘How can it be that the entire body of mindweavers cannot find two babies and a child?’
‘I thought Grindarl was in charge of this operation.’
‘Not any more,’ Brutila said with a smile of satisfaction.
Strinverl’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the terrible, lopsided grimace.
‘As you know, the power only works over short distances,’ he stammered, ‘a quarter of a league at most. It’s not simply a case of closing my eyes and picking them out. We have mindweavers stationed all over Golmeira. I’m sure they will find them soon.’
‘Not good enough,’ barked Brutila. ‘I begin to wonder where your loyalties lie. You were a member of Leodra’s council for many years after all.’
‘Do not presume to question me,’ retorted Strinverl. ‘It was me who disabled half the mindweavers on the council, me who was Thorlberd’s inside man and me who disposed of Teona, our over-promoted highmaster.’ His eyes glinted with pleasure at the memory.
‘Once a traitor, always a traitor, the saying goes,’ remarked Brutila dryly. ‘Perhaps I’d better check?’
Ignoring his cry of protest, she dug into his mind. His defences were weak, and his thoughts were easy to steal. Like many people with great mindweaving abilities, Strinverl had relatively little resistance to the entry of others. Arrogant and complacent, never imagining that anyone would dare to challenge them. It was no wonder the council had fallen so easily.
Brutila continued to rummage long after she had confirmed his loyalty to Thorlberd – or at least loyalty for as long as Strinverl gained by the arrangement. Then she released him. ‘Just what I expected,’ she snorted.
Strinverl staggered back as if he had been punched.
‘I have never…’ he began, but Brutila raised a grey-gloved hand. His protest died in his mouth.
‘Now, what explanation do you have for your current lack of success?’ she drawled, as if they were at a polite tea party, with no hint of the violence she had just visited upon him.
He smoothed back his few remaining strands of hair in a feeble attempt to regain his dignity.
‘Of course, the babies are too young to have conscious thoughts and so cannot be detected,’ he said. ‘Zastra was always a resourceful child and when she took the test she demonstrated some ability to resist mindweaving. Not enough to protect her against even the weakest of us, unless...’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless someone taught her. If one of the council took it upon themselves to train her, she might have developed the skills to evade us. But it would take a great deal of study to achieve such a feat. I can
hardly imagine that any offspring of Leodra, that weak and insignificant man, could manage such a thing. Especially a mere talentless child.’
‘Your lack of imagination may have already cost us,’ said Brutila. ‘We still have some members of Leodra’s council imprisoned in the dungeon – those who were not killed. I shall enjoy paying them a visit.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Zastra hurried along the streets of Riverford, plucking up courage to ask a passer-by for directions to the Eastgate. She was anxious to leave this dark, forbidding city whose tall buildings seemed to be closing over her head like a fist of stone fingers. With nowhere to spend the night, she did not want to be caught out by the curfew. She travelled down a steep cobbled street, hesitating as she reached a fork. A gang of Kyrgs was heading towards them on the left-hand route, so she took the other. She had gone barely thirty paces, when, without warning, she was clattered by a young lad, dark-skinned, with hair like coiled springs, who had rushed headlong out of one of the houses lining the street. They crashed to the ground in a heap.
‘Sorry,’ muttered the boy. He scrambled up and ran off down the hill, then darted to his left and into a narrow alleyway.
Findar had been woken by the bump and began to bawl with some vigour. Two Kyrgs emerged from the same house as the boy. One of them grabbed Zastra roughly.
‘Got you!’ he exclaimed.
‘Wait, Tholgar, that’s not the one,’ said the other Kyrg, looking closely at Zastra. ‘Where did he go, boy?’
When Zastra did not respond, she found herself shoved roughly against the wall of the house behind her.
‘Tell us now and we’ll let you go. Otherwise, it’s to the dungeons,’ the one called Tholgar said menacingly. Findar wailed at an even higher pitch. Zastra looked around her, thinking quickly.
‘That way,’ she said, pointing up the hill in the opposite direction to where the boy had gone.
‘If you’re lying, you’ll be sorry,’ snarled Tholgar, gripping her hard by the shoulder and grinding her bones together. ‘Show me where they went.’
As he pulled her along, Zastra faked a limp, slowing him down.
‘I can’t go any faster,’ she cried plaintively, refusing to speed up. Findar was crying with the violence only babies can muster. Zastra did not try and calm him. If they could be really irritating, perhaps the Kyrgs would just let them go. Zastra dragged even more, faking a coughing fit.
‘I can’t… go… on. Must… stop,’ she wheezed theatrically.
‘Show me where he went,’ insisted Tholgar.
Zastra pointed up towards a narrow passage about forty paces away.
‘There,’ she cried. ‘I saw him go that way.’ She sank to the ground in a dead weight.
Tholgar snarled with frustration
‘Oh, let’s just leave it,’ said the other Kyrg.
‘No – the boy insulted us. I cannot let that pass. Come on, leave these two, they’ll just get in the way.’
The Kyrgs released Zastra and headed for the passageway. She turned and hurried back down the hill. Hearing a cry, she glanced over her shoulder. Tholgar was running towards her. He did not look pleased. Zastra broke into a run, skidding on the greasy cobbles as she turned and ducked down the same dark alley that the dark-skinned boy had disappeared into. She ran as fast as she could, but carrying Findar slowed her down and her pursuers were gaining. A wooden door opened in the side of the alley and a brown arm reached out and grabbed her.
‘Quick. Hide here!’ a voice whispered urgently, and they were pulled inside in a heartbeat, the door closing behind them just in time. Two pairs of heavy boots thundered past, the door shaking in their wake. Zastra turned, making out the outline of the curly-haired boy in the gloom. He held his finger to his lips and beckoned them to the back of what appeared to be a large cellar. A small barred window looked out onto a small courtyard. The two Kyrgs, having lost their quarry, were pacing in frustration.
‘They must be hiding in one of the houses,’ said Tholgar, eyes searching every nook and crevice. ‘Fetch the rest of the troop, while I stand guard.’ Zastra shrank back behind a large barrel. Findar, who had temporarily quietened in surprise at their hectic flight, filled his lungs as if to begin wailing again. Hastily, Zastra reached in her bag for the sugar. She and the boy both heaved sighs of relief when Findar suckled quietly on her finger.
‘What do we have here?’ a well-mannered voice drawled from the street outside the cellar.
Zastra and her new companion peered once more out of the cellar window. A handsome young man was seated in languid pose on the sill of a first-floor window of the house opposite. He was well-groomed, but dressed in ill-matched, poorly fitting clothes. He peered down at the Kyrgs and then glanced across at their barred window and winked. Zastra shrank back. The man knew they were there. A second man, as ugly as the other was handsome, popped his head out of the same window.
‘Looks like we have snared some Kyrgs,’ the handsome man said gaily. ‘Bullying children as usual.’
Tholgar snarled up at them. Without hesitation, both men sprang down into the courtyard, swords appearing in their hands as if from nowhere. The Kyrgs adopted an aggressive crouch, each pulling two short, serrated blades from pouches on the sides of their hips. A rattle of pure aggression poured forth from each Kyrginite throat.
‘Looks like a spot of fun to be had, eh, Marik?’ said the ugly man.
‘There’s only two though,’ replied Marik. ‘Hardly worth bothering with, if you ask me. Still, children in distress, it behoves us to do something Godral, don’t you think?’
‘Absolutely,’ replied his comrade. The two men sprang upon the Kyrgs in a flurry of blades. The children watched the battle in awe, the quick flashing blades of the young men contrasting with the short, savage thrusts of the Kyrginites. The battle did not last long. The Kyrgs were both slain, although the handsome man had been caught by one the serrated blades and had a deep cut on his upper arm.
‘Blasted scythals,’ he said, plucking his sleeve in mild annoyance. ‘A blade of savages, if ever there was one. Dratted animals, these Kyrgs.’
‘Brave though,’ said his companion. ‘That big one fought to the end, even after you had disarmed him.’
‘Too brainless to think of surrendering,’ remarked Marik, cleaning his own blade and replacing it in a scabbard strapped to his back. Crouching down, he peered through the window and into the cellar.
‘It’s safe now children.’ At that moment, Findar began to cry, no longer placated by the sugar. There was no point in hiding anymore, so the two children reluctantly exited their refuge.
‘I like your style,’ said Marik, grinning. ‘If you are going to pick a house to hide in, pick one belonging to one of Finton’s mistresses. You’ve got some nerve.’
‘I didn’t know who it belongs to,’ muttered the young boy, appearing shy in front of the two men. Zastra’s eyes were drawn to the bodies of the dead Kyrginites, and she shivered. As if sensing her thoughts, the ugly man got down on one knee in front of them, masking their view of the bodies.
‘I’m Godral and this is Marik. We won’t harm you,’ he said gently.
His handsome companion bowed with a grin and a flourish.
‘Erstwhile humble soldiers in the Marl of Riverford’s guard at your service,’ he said.
‘Humble, my backside,’ remarked Godral.
‘Shush comrade,’ said Marik, waving him away. ‘We are loyal soldiers of Grand Marl Leodra, sadly fallen upon hard times. Resigned to be soldiers of fortune, flitting about in the shadows, rescuing innocent children, such as your good selves, as well as maidens in distress, at any opportunity.’
Godral snorted. ‘Maidens in distress? What rubbish you talk.’
‘Tush tush, dear Godral. Did not we aid a fair maiden in distress only yesterday?’
‘As I recall, she was a wrinkly old shopkeeper with several warts and at least three chins.’
‘Beauty is beneath the skin, comrade, an
d she was as fair a personage as I have ever met. Did not she supply us with a feast fit for a grand marl?’
‘A bit of mouldy cheese and some stale bread a dog might think twice about. Mind you, I was ready. I’d not eaten for two days. It’s hard being on the run.’
‘And the wine Godral, the dear creature supplied us with the wine of the grand master vintners themselves.’
Godral raised an eyebrow at Zastra.
‘Some old hogwash that she had been unable to sell. Tasted like a mixture of medicine and mould.'
‘Are there many soldiers still loyal to Leodra?’ asked Zastra hesitantly.
Godral sighed. ‘It was a terrible day, the day the traitor Thorlberd’s ruffians took over. Finton betrayed us, opening the gates to the Kyrginite hoard. We tried to muster a defence, but Lord Miraval was already dead, murdered in his sleep. And that evil beast, the migaradon, must have killed a hundred of us. We tried to fight it but any spears and arrows that reached it just bounced off its hide. I’ve never seen anything like it. We even tried using the large catapults, but it dodged our shots easily. They say the riders are mindweavers and I can believe it. Every time the beast swooped, my sight seemed to blur, and my head was filled with unnatural fear and strange, confusing visions. We didn’t stand a chance.’
‘How did you escape?’ asked the boy, wide-eyed.
‘Marik and I became separated from our troop. I’m ashamed to say we all scattered, desperately trying to escape the migaradon. Since then we have hidden in the shadows, trying to disrupt Finton’s plans where we can. There are a few others who escaped with us but there is little we can do.’
‘Oh, how you complain, Godral,’ exclaimed Marik. ‘Always looking on the gloomy side, and dimming the mood. There’s such fun to be had, chasing Kyrgs and meeting such companions. Might I have the honour of your names, noble Sirs?’
Zastra was half tempted to tell them the truth, to see what reaction she might get, but she remembered Hedrik’s warning about pride and she kept quiet. It would be a foolish risk. Trust no one, her father had said.
Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set Page 13