Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘You were there?’ gasped Zastra in surprise.

  ‘I was indeed. You hid your mind well, Zastra. It was only when the Kyrgs were questioning you that I realised I had found you. Only for those cloth merchants to snatch you away from under my nose. I tried to chase after you, but my old bones are not meant for running. I did what I could, using my abilities to keep the Kyrgs asleep until you were long gone. Gil’s sleep suggestion would have worn off after a few minutes.’

  Zastra recalled the black-cloaked figure that had pursued the trap. To think that it had been Dobery.

  ‘I hurried after you on foot, but Brutila and her troops soon overtook me, and I could not keep pace with them. I arrived at Lyria in time to see the troops returning in disarray, carrying a body on a stretcher – alive or dead I could not tell, and for a terrible instant I thought it was you, Zastra, until I was able to scan the mind of a stray soldier and find out what had happened. Since then, I have been searching the mountains. A chance sighting of the fellgryff by some villagers several leagues away helped me narrow the search. The unusual marking on its neck identified it as the one you had escaped on. And so, at last, I found you.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Dalbric. ‘Mindweavers and migaradons. It’s like the poems, or something they tell children. Tell me again, Dobery, about the Lady Migara. And Zastra, what about—’

  ‘Dalbric, leave the poor souls alone,’ said Etta. ‘Right now, it’s time for bed. We’ve chores to catch up on the morning, and I for one need my sleep.’

  Chapter Forty-two

  The next day, whilst Etta and Dalbric were occupied in rearranging one of their storerooms, Dobery came and sat by the fire with Zastra and Findar. The little boy was full of energy, delighting in his new ability to stand and stagger a few steps before collapsing back down to the ground. He was amazed by everything in the small house, reaching out to grab every fascinating object with wide-eyed glee.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Kastara,’ said Zastra. ‘I should go back for her. Father said I must take care of them both.’

  ‘I would counsel against such an undertaking,’ said Dobery. ‘I know it is difficult, but decisions such as that, once made, must be adhered to. To go back now would put both yourself and Kastara in terrible danger. Findar too, if they caught you. Your sister is in good hands, and we must trust that Bodel and fate will keep Kastara safe. Brutila believed that Kastara died of the blue fever, so no one will have reason to suspect little Joril. She is safe in her new identity, safer even than you and Findar. I believe you made the right choice.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. You have achieved something remarkable. You succeeded in escaping across the breadth of Golmeira, in spite the power of Thorlberd. You have kept your brother and sister safe. All without being a mindweaver. I’m very proud, and your mother and father would be too.’

  ‘But what about Golmeira? What about Thorlberd? We can’t just let him get away with what he has done.’

  ‘No, indeed. The time will come when we will fight back. But for now, you must rest and heal. I will seek out those that defy Thorlberd. Seacastle is not yet taken and Sendor will not fall without a fight, if history be our guide. All is not yet lost.’

  There was comfort in Dobery’s words and Zastra’s recovery continued until she was able to walk and even venture outside. Etta’s sturdy wooden house was set in a clearing on the mountainside, close to a small stream that supplied it with water. The air was pure and clear, although increasingly cold as winter approached. They were enclosed in a protective shield of green-forested mountains that extended away from them in all directions, yielding only to the mighty, snow-topped peaks of the Northern Wastes. Enclosed, but not imprisoned. As the wind whipped through her hair, Zastra pulled her fur-lined cloak, a gift from Etta, closer round her body. She felt a strange contentment in their isolation. It was as if Golmeira and the rest of the world no longer existed.

  Her thoughts were disturbed by Dobery and Dalbric returning from a hunting expedition.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be resting?’ said Dalbric, with concern.

  ‘I’ve been resting for quite long enough. I don’t want you to think I’m some useless rich girl, expecting to be waited on all the time,’ replied Zastra with a small smile.

  ‘Well, I was beginning to wonder,’ Dalbric returned with a wink. ‘Come on, we’ve caught a vizzal – it’ll make a good supper.’

  Zastra insisted on helping Etta with the meal, preparing the vegetables with great zeal.

  ‘You are taking off too much skin,’ said Etta. ‘We can’t afford for you to throw away half the good stuff. We’re not all daughters of grand marls, you know.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Zastra, concentrating on making her peelings as thin as possible.

  ‘When you’ve done, they need cooking,’ said Etta.

  Zastra hesitated.

  ‘I only know how to make porridge,’ she admitted.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with porridge,’ said Etta. She then explained to Zastra what had to be done with the vegetables and watched over her whilst she attempted to make gravy. At last the meal was brought to table.

  ‘What took so long?’ said Dalbric, despite a stern look from Etta. He looked in trepidation as Zastra poured some rather lumpy gravy on his plate.

  ‘Um, it looks lovely,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Dobery, bravely crunching on some severely undercooked yellow-root.

  Etta glanced across at her son.

  ‘Dalbric, I was thinking of asking Zastra and Findar to live with us. What do you say?’

  ‘Great idea,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’ll be nice to have the company.’

  Etta turned towards Zastra.

  ‘I doubt anyone will come looking for you here,’ she said. ‘We’re several leagues from the nearest village and only go down the valley a few times a year. The soldiers don’t tend to venture into the mountains – they like their valley comforts too much. I can say you are a distant cousin. No one would question that. However, we can’t have passengers. Everyone here must work, and it’s hard work at that.’

  Zastra felt deeply the generousness of the offer – Etta and Dalbric had so little, yet were willing to share it with them, although they were strangers.

  ‘That’s a very kind of you,’ she said, ‘especially as you’ve seen how terrible I am at cooking.’

  ‘Awful,’ agreed Dalbric, pushing away a half-eaten plate of food.

  Findar took that opportunity to fling some of his mashed vegetables across the table with a squeal of discontent.

  ‘Even Findar hates it,’ sighed Zastra.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll learn,’ said Etta. ‘You have shown that at least you are willing to try. Now, suppose I rescue the vegetables and make some gravy that deserves the name?’

  Findar clapped his hands with delight, almost as if he understood.

  Zastra looked at Dobery.

  ‘Will you stay too?’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Zastra. I would bring too much attention. My face, as you know, is rather distinctive and I have been listed as an enemy of Golmeira with a reward for my capture. You will be safer if I am not here. Besides, I have things to do, as you know my dear, which cannot wait.’

  ‘Please say you’ll stay, Zastra,’ said Dalbric. ‘You’ll be safe with us.’

  Zastra nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe we will.’

  THE END

  Murthen Island

  BOOK TWO: TALES OF GOLMEIRA

  MARIANNE RATCLIFFE

  Published by Marianne Ratcliffe

  MACCLESFIELD, UK

  Murthen Island copyright © 2015 by Marianne Ratcliffe

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  First Printing, 2015
/>   ISBN 9780993400100

  Published by Marianne Ratcliffe

  www.marianneratcliffe.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Richard and Sylvia Ratcliffe, for their continuous support and encouragement

  Chapter One

  Kylen snapped her telescope shut in satisfaction and retreated into the shadow cast by a sun-baked boulder.

  ‘At last,’ she said in a low voice. ‘The shipment of weapons. Just like that drunken Golmeiran captain told us. Time we sent a message to Grand Marl Thorlberd.’

  ‘We’ve been sending such messages for the last year, my lady. I’m not sure anyone is listening.’ Her huge Sendoran companion was almost as large as the rock behind which they were hidden.

  ‘Then we need to do more. I’ll make him wish he had never even thought of invading Sendor.’

  ‘I just… I have a bad feeling about today.’

  Kylen sighed wearily.

  ‘Again, Hylaz?’

  ‘We’ve stretched our luck as it is. We can’t keep going up against such numbers and surviving.’

  ‘Survival is overrated. I’d rather die by a Golmeiran sword than live as their slave. My father would agree, if he were alive.’

  ‘Lord Mendoraz died defending the people of Golgannan against the entire Golmeiran army and their monstrous migaradons. He wouldn’t venture his life over a few supply wagons. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.’

  ‘We are down to our last few crossbow bolts and your sword has been patched more times than a beggar’s blanket. If those wagons are carrying weapons, it will certainly be worth it.’

  The big man squinted through a telescope that appeared as small as a twig in his giant hands. ‘Must be a hundred of them, and we are only twenty.’

  Kylen slapped his broad back.

  ‘It wouldn’t be fun if it was too easy, now would it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind easy, just for once,’ muttered her companion. ‘Instead of odds of five to one.’

  ‘Every one of our people is worth ten soft-bellied Golmeirans, which makes it two to one in our favour.’

  ‘Well, when you put it like that…’

  Kylen stood up and made a signal with her right hand. She received small movements of acknowledgement from positions triangulated above the narrow defile. Her team was ready.

  Below them, soldiers wearing black uniforms with a green gecko emblazoned on their chests rounded a bend and marched slowly up the narrow track towards them. Kylen allowed the leading line of soldiers to pass by, waiting until the first of the wagons creaked into position directly beneath her. She tapped Hylaz on the shoulder. He cupped his hands around his mouth and gave out the pre-arranged signal, mimicking the bellow of a male fellgryff. Kylen lifted her elmwood Golmeiran crossbow, sighted at the driver of the wagon and fired. The driver sagged forward in his seat. Hylaz spat at the ground.

  ‘Say what you like about Golmeirans, they make a good crossbow.’

  Thank you, Zastra. Her bow had been a parting gift from the only Golmeiran that Kylen didn’t despise. She wondered what had become of Zastra. Thorlberd had proclaimed his niece dead, but Kylen wasn’t so sure. She knew her friend would have put up a fight. Her shot was echoed by a volley of sharp twangs as the rest of her team fired their own bolts. The figures in black scattered, but Kylen had chosen the site of the ambush well. The track had been carved through the mountainside and the Golmeiran soldiers found themselves hemmed in by sheer rock. There was nowhere to hide as Kylen and her fellow Sendorans released their second and third bolts. Once her crossbow was empty, Kylen threw it aside. Using Golmeiran tactics had given them the advantage but now it was time to fight the Sendoran way. Show the enemy your face. Hylaz brought forward Breeze, her fellgryff. She met the creature’s intelligent eyes and he dipped his head, bucking as she leapt on his back. He was always temperamental, but today the scent of the Golmeirans added to his excitement and she had to grip hard with her legs to cling on. When Breeze settled under her, she eased him towards the edge of the ledge and brandished a sword above her head, her outline framed against the clear blue sky. A Golmeiran bolt whipped past her ear, so close she felt its breath on her cheek. Grinning in wild abandon, she spurred Breeze forward. Sure footed, he sprang from rock to rock, down into the defile and landed on the track in front of the invaders. For a moment she was alone amongst the enemy, before her fellow rebels leapt down onto the track to join her as she had known they would. They were still outnumbered by far, but that was unimportant.

  ‘For Sendor!’ she cried. If this was to be her last day, she would not die alone.

  Chapter Two

  Zastra clenched her toes to grip the rough trunk of the jula tree as it swayed alarmingly beneath her bare feet. The slender tree grew straight out from the steep mountainside, bowing under her weight as she inched towards its crown to reach the precious jula berries that would be her reward for risking her neck. She listened attentively for any tell-tale creaks that would give her warning of a flaw in the wood. The tree was old and if the trunk snapped she would be sent flying down the steep incline onto the unforgiving rocks below.

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ Dalbric cried as she leaned out to tug at a bunch of the orange fruit. Below her, his untidy mop of straw-coloured hair shook in disapproval.

  She laughed, increasingly confident as she rode each dip and roll of the tree. ‘You should try it. There’s a great view from up here. I can even see our fields.’

  The Border Mountains stretched away in all directions, swathed in dense forest, summits of barren rock poking up above the treeline like heads above a rich green cloak. To the far north the snow-capped tips of the Northern Wastes were, as usual, obscured by clouds. Much closer, on the neighbouring ridge, she could just make out the tiny patch of cleared land that marked out their homestead.

  ‘Stop showing off and hurry up.’

  ‘It’s not my fault you’re scared of heights.’

  She flung a bunch of thick-rinded jula berries at him. He side-stepped smartly and caught the bunch one-handed.

  ‘Hey! Careful. You’ll bruise them.’

  Ignoring his pleas, she rained more fruit down on him. A strange moaning noise made them both pause. Dalbric looked anxiously to the north.

  ‘A wind-gust. You’d better come down.’

  Zastra glanced across the slope. A wave of vigorous movement swept across the treetops and accelerated towards her. Yet there were more jula berries to be had, the best too, right at the tips of the branches. She stretched out and tore off the last few remaining bunches of fruit, grabbing hold of a sturdy limb just as the wind-gust slammed into the tree, forcing it to bend so much that its crown pressed against the mountainside. Judging the moment carefully, Zastra sprang to the ground a mere instant before the tree trunk whipped back, released as the wind-gust passed. She placed the fruit into Dalbric’s hand with a triumphant flourish.

  ‘One day your luck will run out and you’ll be catapulted halfway to the moons,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t mind, only Ma will blame me and I’ll be on double chores for a half-month.’

  ‘A half-month, eh? As long as that? Then I’d best be more careful.’

  ‘We’d better head back. If we’re late, it’ll only give Ma time to think up more jobs.’

  The sun was low in the sky and the pale outline of Horval, the larger of the twin moons, was already ascending.

  ‘Fine.’ Zastra wriggled into her backpack. She began to slide down the steep slope. ‘Last one back cooks supper.’

  ‘Hey!’ Dalbric snatched up his own bag and scrambled after her. ‘Not fair.’

  ‘A pregnant slug could run faster!’ Zastra reached the treeline at the bottom of the slope and sprinted into the forest.

  ‘Save your breath for grovelling,’ Dalbric called back. Grinning, he put on a spurt and overtook her, thundering between the trees to her left, breaking through the shafts of evening sunlight that slanted through the thick canopy overhead. Zastra incre
ased her pace, ducking under familiar branches and hurdling fallen trunks. Side by side they raced until they burst into their home clearing, Dalbric ahead by a whisker. Their log cabin sat above them, a log cabin at the top of a grassy incline. Seeing she was about to lose, Zastra dived for Dalbric’s legs, clattering his ankles together so he sprawled to the ground, a mass of long limbs all tangled up in the straps of his dislodged backpack. Pressing her advantage, Zastra leapt on top of him and grabbed his arms so that he couldn’t move.

  ‘No fair!’ Dalbric grunted, his nose squished against the grass.

  ‘You’re getting slower,’ Zastra panted. ‘I reckon it’s the weight of all that hair. Still, I expect Hanra will like it. It does hide those big ears of yours.’

  A door slammed. They both leapt up, like soldiers jumping to attention. A small woman with the same straw-coloured hair as Dalbric strode down the slope towards them, her lips pressed together in disapproval.

  ‘What are you playing at? Don’t you know there’s work to be done? I suppose you expect me to do it all myself?’

  ‘It’s my fault, Etta.’ Zastra hung her head sheepishly.

  ‘It usually is. I was beginning to think you’d got lost, the pair of you.’

  ‘Ma, we know every last tree and path in the forest within two days’ walk,’ protested Dalbric.

  ‘Then you’ve no excuse for being this late, have you?’ Etta pulled Dalbric’s bag from his grasp and examined the contents. ‘These jula berries had better not be damaged—’

  Before she could finish her scolding, Etta broke into a hacking cough. Her body bent forward under the force of it. Dalbric reached towards her in concern, but Etta batted his hand away, straightening up and pumping her chest with her fist as if she could beat the cough out of her slight frame.