Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘You there, sharpshooters.’ The call below was from Lieutenant Jagula. ‘Remember your orders. Look for the leaders and don’t miss!’

  Zastra wiped her sweaty hands on her thighs. The order to tack came. She clung to the masthead, keeping well clear of the stays and braces as the spar groaned around. She clung on when the mast lurched violently as the sail pressed against it. With an ear-splitting whumph the catapults were released. Zastra ducked instinctively as a flaming bale of straw whizzed past her. Both fireballs landed just short of the trio of galleys and the Skurgs ploughed forward unchecked. The catapults were reloaded and the next volley sent into the air. The galleys were closer now and both loads hit their targets, to cheers from the deck below. The huge spar swung round again as the Wind of Golmeira moved back onto its normal tack. The catapults were swung round to bear in the opposite direction. This time showers of rocks were sent skywards. The Skurg galleys were so close that Zastra could hear the splintering impact of the rocks on the wooden planking. The sail of the second galley crumpled and its prow swung around sharply. A dark cloud of smoke rose from the rearmost galley and a flame snaked up its mast. The sail melted away from top to bottom as the fire consumed it. More cheering broke out from Zastra’s crewmates below, but quickly died as the leading galley closed to ram them. The angry red faces of the Skurgs became distinct as they waved their serrated blades in the air. Unlike their own Kyrgs, who lined the prow of the Wind of Golmeira, the Southern Kyrgs had grey hair, although they did not appear to be particularly old. Worryingly, they appeared to be in the prime of health.

  With a tweak of the rudder the Wind of Golmeira avoided a head-on collision and the two ships passed alongside each other’s bows, the galley lying much lower in the water. A swarm of grapnels flew up from the smaller ship and as they bit and the lines pulled taut, the Wind of Golmeira juddered and swung round clumsily. Zastra instinctively tightened her grip on the masthead to keep her perch but her crewmate on the main mast was not so fortunate. Unseated by the rapid deceleration he was cast helplessly to the deck below.

  ‘Sharpshooters!’ the cry came from the quarterdeck. Zastra scanned the galley beneath her. A Skurg guthan with a bronze helmet and a tattoo across half his face surged to the front, shouting commands. Zastra took careful aim. Just as he was poised to leap aboard the Wind of Golmeira she fired, aiming for the gap between his helmet and jerkin. The bolt struck home and the guthan fell, but other Skurgs poured past his body. Zastra loosed her second and third bolts as quickly as she could, not even sure where they landed. She reloaded and took aim at the seething mass of Skurgs but by now most were on the deck below her and mixed in with the Golmeirans. A small group of her crewmates had been pushed back against the bulwarks. Zastra recognised Jerenik and Zarvic with Yashni cowering behind them. They were heavily outnumbered. Zastra slid down the forestay using one hand, ripping the skin from her palm with the speed of her descent. She landed so hard that the impact dislodged her crossbow. She had no time to retrieve it before a large Skurg charged towards her, his scythal raised above his head ready to strike. She yanked the short sword she had been given from the scabbard on her back and thrust at the onrushing Skurg, her wrist jarring at the impact as he fell upon her blade. Another Skurg followed. There was no time to think, no time to remember the fencing moves she had been taught all those years ago at Golmer Castle. Survival was about short, brutal moments and instinctive reactions. Through a small gap in the heaving bodies, Zastra caught a glimpse of Zarvic and Jerenik, pressed back by a tide of Skurgs. There was no sign of Yashni. Zastra edged towards them, hacking with her sword, but she found herself shoved aside as their own Kyrgs, Burgal and Ithgol at the head, ploughed their way through. A heavy blow to her head knocked her to her knees and sweat or something worse dripped into her eyes. A cry went up and there was a sudden lull in the fighting. The Skurgs had been repelled. Jagula, blood streaming from a gash to her bicep, grabbed Zastra beneath her armpit and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘Head up novice. It’s not over yet. Get that crossbow back up the mast. Now!’

  Jagula swung her round roughly and pointed towards the second galley. Its mast was gone, but it was being powered towards them by two banks of oars, rising and falling in unison. The Wind of Golmeira was trapped, tied fast to the first galley. Zastra retrieved her discarded crossbow and clambered up the main mast. Below her the deck was cleared and the catapults readied once more. The galley was barely a hundred paces away when the first catapult fired. The rocks rained down on their target in a deadly shower. A section of oars spiked upward and others snapped, sending the rhythm into chaos. The second catapult fired and another volley of rock landed, inflicting stomach-turning devastation upon the galley deck. Yet still it came on. Zastra saw a Skurg issuing orders, reorganising his remaining troops into a compact group. He was at the limit of her range but she fired anyway. Her target slumped to the ground and the other Skurgs looked around uncertainly. They were still in disarray as the galley ploughed into the quarterdeck of the Wind of Golmeira. Burgal and his band of Kyrgs were ready and they burst upon the disorganised foe. Zastra let off two more bolts and again slid down to the deck. From her left a grey-haired Skurg sprang towards her. She swayed out of the way, kicked out a leg and tripped him to the ground. She had the tip of sword against her opponent’s neck, but hesitated as the large artery in his throat pulsed against the metal. An object flashed past her head and suddenly the Skurg was dead, the hilt of knife protruding from his throat. Zastra turned to see Captain Dastrin clenching his fist.

  ‘Do not hesitate. Death is all they deserve.’

  A cheer broke out on the deck behind her. The fight was over. They had won. As the sounds died down, Zastra stared across the length of the deck. How had she not noticed that it was covered in blood and bodies? Nausea overcome her, and she rushed to the side of the ship and vomited into the ocean.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jerenik came across the deck to Zastra, flushed and sweaty.

  ‘We showed them beasts, eh? I reckon I killed at least four. Nice shooting, mountain girl. I saw how that Skurg guthan went down. Didn’t know you were that good.’

  Zastra puffed out her cheeks. ‘Lucky shot.’

  Mata, the Watchmaster for the second Half of the crew, was standing nearby.

  ‘You showed some good sharpshooter skills today,’ she said. ‘Layna isn’t it?’

  Zastra nodded weakly. Mata looked down at her sympathetically.

  ‘The first battle is always tough. Remember, it was them or you. Skurgs show no mercy and don’t ask me what they do with the bodies of their enemies.’

  The Watchmaster look as if she would have said more, but she was called away by Lieutenant Jagula. Jerenik started to clean his sword, whistling a triumphant tune. Zastra remembered the last time she had seen him, backed against the bulwarks by a crowd of Skurgs.

  ‘I saw you with Zarvic and Yashni. Are they all right?’

  ‘Zarvic’s dead. As for Yashni, I’ve no idea. She didn’t seem to be enjoying things much.’

  ‘There wasn’t a lot to enjoy. I’m sorry about Zarvic. He was a good fellow and deserved better.’

  ‘Oh, cheer up, will you? Don’t it feel good to be alive?’

  Zastra didn’t like to agree, but she had to admit to a feeling of strange exhilaration. Or perhaps it was just relief. Whatever it was, it was mixed with sadness for the death of Zarvic and her other crewmates. And where was Yashni? There was no sign of her on deck, so she went to search below. She found the girl in a dark corner of the healer’s room, curled into a tight ball.

  ‘Yashni, are you hurt?’

  The girl did not move. Zastra looked her over but could see no sign of injury.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Zastra reached gingerly towards the girl. ‘It’s over now.’

  A muffled sob emerged from the darkness.

  ‘It’s not all right. It’ll never be all right. I’m… I’ll never be able to… I can’t…’

/>   ‘Hush now,’ whispered Zastra. ‘Not everyone is suited to fighting. Don’t be upset.’

  ‘But they’ll know. I’m done for. Dastrin will find out and throw me in the barrel for being a coward.’

  Zastra knew Yashni was right – the punishment for cowardice was death. A shadow fell across them both as the dim light coming from the jula lamps was blocked by a tall figure. It was Watchmaster Mata.

  ‘What’s going on here? I’m to make a note of the injured for Captain Dastrin. What’s the status of this one? I can’t see any wounds.’

  Yashni scrunched up even tighter.

  ‘Please,’ Zastra entreated, ‘it’s not her fault.’ Mata studied them both for a moment before kneeling down and pushing Yashni’s shoulder back so she could see her face.

  ‘Yashni, isn’t it? She’s on my watch.’

  Zastra nodded. Mata stood back.

  ‘Well, Yashni, Tijan needs someone to help him with the wounded. I can say I ordered you down here to assist. But I need you to get up. Right now.’

  Yashni unfurled slightly, her moist eyes searching for Zastra’s. Zastra nodded encouragingly. Mata held out her hand. ‘Come with me,’ she said firmly. Yashni allowed herself to be led across the room towards the healer. Tijan did not stop what he was doing, but listened as Mata whispered something in his ear. He nodded brusquely and thrust a bundle of bandages into Yashni’s hands. Mata returned to Zastra.

  ‘You’d better get back on deck. There’ll be a lot of work to do and you don’t want Dastrin to think you’re shirking.’

  ‘Thank you. I—’

  ‘Keep your thanks.’ Mata cut her off tersely. ‘Not a word about this. Up you go, or you’ll be for the barrel.’

  In many ways, the aftermath was worse than the battle itself. There was much to be done and none of it pleasant. One of the Skurg galleys had drifted away, a floating bonfire, and was left to its fate. The other two ships were stripped of anything of value and then Dastrin ordered them to be sunk. The dead Skurgs were unceremoniously thrown overboard. Any wounded amongst the Golmeiran crew were taken below to await the attentions of the overworked Tijan. The bodies of their own dead, the dark-skinned Zarvic among them, were placed in sacks weighted down with rocks and then also tipped overboard. Dastrin allowed no words to be said, nor any grief to be shown for the dead, his only concern the state of his ship. No one was allowed a moment’s rest until the decks had been scoured clean and repairs completed to the quarterdeck, where the impact of the second galley had caused considerable damage. With their numbers reduced by the absence of the wounded and the dead, the system of alternate Halves was temporarily suspended. All worked together until the ship was back in some kind of order. Zastra and her crewmates moved around like ghosts, following orders in a daze of exhaustion.

  It was two days before Koltan allowed his Half to take a break. Zastra sought out Yashni. She found her below decks, helping a man with a broken arm eat a bowl of porridge. She smiled shyly as Zastra came towards her. The crew had each been given a small square of toffee, a reward arranged by Mata for their hard work. Zastra snapped her piece in two and gave half to Yashni.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Busy.’ Yashni accepted Zastra’s offering gratefully. She had dark circles under her eyes but her voice and body were full of energy. She barely had time to chew a mouthful of toffee before there was a call from another bunk. Yashni dashed across to tighten some bandages and then fetched a thirsty patient some water. A Kyrg with a heavily bandaged head grunted in pain and Yashni adjusted his pillow and mixed him a draught of medicine, talking to him in soothing tones until he was calm and drank it all down.

  ‘Looks like you’ve found your perfect job.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Yashni flushed. ‘Tijan has said he’ll ask if I can be assigned to him as his assistant. I do hope they’ll let me.’

  ‘Then I hope so too.’ Zastra looked around. ‘You’ll be more use here than scrubbing decks.’

  Yashni bowed her head.

  ‘Thank you for not telling anyone about… you know.’

  Zastra waved away her thanks. ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to keeping secrets. Anyway, it’s Mata you should thank, not me.’

  ‘Yashni, I need more bandages over here.’ Tijan glared at them from the far side of the room.

  ‘Is he always that grumpy?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Yashni dashed to a nearby chest and filled her arms with clean bandages. ‘But he’s a dear really, if he takes a liking to you.’

  The healer glared across at Zastra.

  ‘Unless you’re wounded, get out! Or should I tell the captain that you need more work?’

  ‘I guess he doesn’t like me yet,’ muttered Zastra. She did not wait for Tijan to repeat the command. Her cot was waiting and she felt as if she could sleep for a week.

  Chapter Twenty

  Once the Wind of Golmeira was repaired to Dastrin’s satisfaction, the crew resumed their usual duties, split again into alternate Halves. The first morning back in their normal routine, Zastra responded to the gong that signalled the beginning of her shift as usual, but was stopped by a large hand against her chest. It was Koltan.

  ‘Lieutenant Jagula wants to see you.’

  ‘Me? What for?’

  ‘No questions. Jump to it.’

  Jagula, next only to Dastrin in power and authority. What did she want with her? Had she found out about Yashni somehow? Jagula’s cabin was a tiny box with a burlap curtain for a door, squeezed between Dastrin’s large cabin beneath the quarterdeck and the officers’ mess. Zastra had never been there before and wasn’t sure how she was supposed to announce herself. She could hardly knock, neither could she barge in unannounced. She settled for a loud cough. The burlap curtain was snatched back and a knife was at her throat before she could move.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Come in then, don’t skulk about.’ Jagula lowered the knife and Zastra followed her into the tiny cabin. There was barely enough room for them both, and Zastra had to tilt her head to one side to prevent it hitting the ceiling.

  ‘I saw your shooting. You are good. Better than good.’

  ‘Just lucky.’ Zastra’s heart began to race. Did Jagula suspect that Zastra was more than she seemed?

  ‘False modesty disgusts me. It is lying by another name. You seem to have a good head under pressure. Something you’ll need if you are going to become a Watchmaster.’

  ‘A what?’ Zastra jerked back in surprise and grimaced as the back of her head connected with a low beam.

  ‘Watchmaster Mata tells me you can read. Is that true?’

  Zastra nodded, rubbing her head ruefully. Some of the crew had received letters the last time they had put into port and Zastra had offered to read for those who could not. She didn’t know how Mata had found out, but it was hard to keep anything secret amongst the crowded decks.

  ‘Good. Watchmaster Mata has offered to tutor you. Your training starts immediately. Dismissed.’

  Zastra headed back up to the deck in a daze. Before her eyes had adjusted to the light after the darkness below decks, Koltan shoved a scourer into her hand, together with a bucket.

  ‘Don’t think that now you’re Jagula’s new pet you can shirk your duties. When you’ve finished scrubbing the quarterdeck, the head needs flushing out.’

  Cleaning the head was the most unpleasant of all the crew’s tasks and generally reserved for Ithgol. Zastra guessed that Koltan was less than pleased by her sudden promotion.

  ‘Have fun.’ Jerenik grinned at her. ‘Don’t know what you did to annoy Jagula, but it must have been bad.’

  Zastra told him what had happened. Jerenik slapped her hard between her shoulder blades and chuckled.

  ‘Well, if this is how they reward you, I might just let the Skurgs kill me next time.’

  Zastra’s lessons with Mata had to be crammed into her free time between shifts. Koltan’s displeasure at Jagula’s decision did not lessen, and Zastra became extremely familiar with the fetid sten
ch of the head.

  Mata began by teaching her the basics of sailing and navigation. It was much more complicated than Zastra could have thought, but despite that she found it interesting. She began to understand the meaning of Koltan’s hitherto incomprehensible commands, that tacking and wearing, were not merely intended as ways to make the crew suffer, were manoeuvres that had to be timed and handled to perfection. Slowly and patiently, Mata taught her the secrets she herself had learned from many years at sea. How and when to trim sail, how to increase the speed of a ship by changing the weight balance, or by trimming the jib and more besides. One area where Zastra seemed to naturally excel was in judging the strength and direction of the wind. She could sense a change almost before it was upon them and knew instinctively the best point of sailing to get the most out of the ship. Sometimes, it felt as if she were back in the mountains, riding a Jula tree.