Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  The crew broke up and Koltan informed Zastra, Ithgol and Jerenik that they were to join the advance party.

  ‘Bet our captain won’t be joining us,’ muttered Jerenik. ‘Far too dangerous.’

  ‘Do you want to get us in trouble?’ Zastra whispered.

  ‘We’re already in a world of trouble, mountain girl. I overheard some of our esteemed captain’s discussion with the officers. There’s more to this mission—’

  ‘You there,’ cried Jagula. ‘Quiet down or there’ll be trouble.’

  Zastra was ordered to Mata’s cabin before she could find out what Jerenik meant. Mata was not one of those going with the advance party but she looked grave nonetheless.

  ‘Be extra careful tonight,’ she said. ‘Be ready for anything.’

  She informed Zastra that she would be tasked with navigating the boats to the landing point on the island. They went over the route and the navigation plan but Zastra found it difficult to concentrate. Mata’s concern and Jerenik’s cryptic remarks made her wonder what they were getting into. As if attacking the Skurg’s home was not dangerous enough, there was clearly something they weren’t being told. She couldn’t shake the feeling that their luck was about to run out.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Wind of Golmeira had two boats; the yacht with a sail and a large dinghy powered by five pairs of oars. Both were lowered into the sea and packed full of sailors. Dastrin had used the cover of darkness to take the Wind of Golmeira closer to the lizard-shaped islands. The boats were to make it the rest of the way. As they pushed off, Zastra noted that Jerenik had been right. Captain Dastrin had not joined them.

  Under the close attention of Lieutenant Jagula, Zastra used the light wind to guide the yacht toward the islands. There was little moonslight but she used an occasional glimpse of the stars through gaps in the cloud to keep their course. The dinghy kept close by, rowlocks muffled and the oars placed into the water with unusual care to avoid making any splashes. If the Skurgs heard them coming they would be dead as soon as they hit land. Their only hope lay in stealth. An occasional whispered exchange kept the boats together.

  ‘Are you sure you’re steering right, girl?’ muttered Jagula after they had been sailing for some time with no sign of land. ‘It’ll be the barrel for you if you get us lost.’ Jagula seemed unusually tense. Zastra glanced up at the sky. She believed she was still on the course that Mata had planned for her but there had been no gap in the clouds for a while. If the currents were even a little stronger than she had accounted for, they could be in trouble. Then she heard the welcome sound of waves lapping against a shoreline. She just hoped it was the correct island. As the hulls of the boats scraped onto a shelf of shale, Zastra strained her eyes and ears for any indication that they had been seen.

  ‘Our flekk of a captain set us down too far away,’ someone whispered. ‘After rowing for so long I’m too tired to move, let alone fight. All so he’s at a safe distance.’

  ‘Quiet down,’ Jagula snapped in a hoarse whisper. The boats were pulled up and hidden as best they could manage in the dark and then Jagula led them along the shoreline and up a sandy incline. It was almost impossible to see anything but Jagula seemed to be sure of the route. The sandy surface beneath their feet changed to solid stone as they climbed and the slope began to level off as Jagula ordered them to halt. There was no shelter and a chilly wind swept around them, gritty with sand. Zastra began to shiver as the sweat from the uphill march grew cold against her skin. Her woollen jacket provided little protection, so she huddled next to Jerenik, grateful for the warmth of another body.

  ‘I n-never knew you c-cared, mountain girl.’ He blew into his cupped hands to warm them.

  ‘Someone needs to stop your teeth clattering, or you’ll wake the Skurgs.’

  As dawn began to break over the horizon, Jagula gave the order to move forwards. They were at the top of a hill that sloped down towards a large wooden dome. The dome was surrounded by a wide circle of grass, itself enclosed by a tall fence of wooden stakes sharpened to points at the top. There was no sign of life.

  ‘This is going to be easy,’ said Jagula, testing the sharpness of her sword with a dirty thumb. She ordered them to advance. The fence was too high to scale but they had come prepared with axes and a gap was soon made. Cries from within the stockade indicated that their chopping had roused the inhabitants and, as Jagula urged them through the gap, they were confronted by a semi-circle of grey-haired Skurgs, teeth bared.

  ‘They don’t look pleased to see us,’ remarked Zastra.

  ‘Maybe they don’t like being roused out of their cosy beds so early of a morning,’ Jerenik suggested.

  Jagula snorted. ‘There’s barely enough to keep me busy. They didn’t even think to bring their scythals.’ She drew her sword. ‘With me!’

  She sprang forward. Jerenik grabbed Zastra by her wrist. ‘Don’t be at the front,’ he muttered. By the time she had shrugged him off they were towards the rear of the charge. She sprinted to catch up with her crewmates, noting with surprise that the Skurgs had not run to meet them. In a most un-Skurg-like manner, they lobbed a few small objects in their direction before turning and running away. One of the objects, a small brown sack, landed on the ground a few paces in front of her and she noticed a plume of smoke tailing behind it. As she ran past it, the ground burst open. Her eardrums screamed in protest and the ground slammed against her chest as dirt rained down on her back. As she lay stunned, a large rock smacked into the ground, inches from her head. She wiped the dirt from her face, her ears filled with a high-pitched ringing. All around her the grassy carpet had been torn away, leaving craters of mud. Acrid smoke filled the air. Beside her lay a body, unmoving. It was Jerenik. Blood streamed down his face and dripped from the end of his nose. She shook him vigorously but he could not be roused. As the smoke cleared, Zastra saw that she was surrounded by the bodies of their crewmates. A mound of mangled flesh wore Jagula’s black uniform. Nearby, a severed arm displayed two silver pips on a crumpled sleeve. Zastra eased herself to her feet only to be bowled over by one of her crewmates.

  ‘Run!’ he screamed wildly. ‘Back to the boats!’ The surviving members of the crew needed no further urging and made for the gap in the stockade, running or staggering as best they could. As Zastra stared at their receding backs, another of the strange missiles landed on the ground some distance to her left. It sat innocuously for a moment, before vanishing in a huge flash and crash of noise. It was supplanted by a large hole in the ground and Zastra was bowled over once more. She shook her head to try and clear away the dreadful ringing in her ears and pulled the motionless Jerenik up and onto her shoulder. He was heavier than he looked and she could only stagger towards the gap in the fence, certain the Skurgs would overtake her at any moment. She forced herself into a shuffling run, her thighs burning with the effort when, all of a sudden, the heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders. It was Ithgol, barely breaking stride as he took Jerenik from her. She ran after him. A small band of Skurgs armed with double-headed axes pursued them, war cries ringing out. Zastra and Ithgol reached the top of the hill together and headed down the incline towards the beach. The remnants of their advance party had already got the dinghy into the water, its oars pounding against the surf in a disordered frenzy. Someone had attempted to launch the yacht, unsuccessfully, and it lay against a line of rocks with its hull staved in. Ithgol’s pace slowed as they reached the beach and his legs buckled in the soft sand. Zastra grabbed one of Jerenik’s arms to help him, but by the time they reached the water the dinghy was already three lengths clear of the shore and gathering pace.

  ‘Swim!’ cried Zastra. ‘We can keep him up between us.’

  ‘I can’t swim,’ Ithgol growled. He dropped his burden and unsheathed his scythal. ‘You go.’ He turned to face the onrushing Skurgs. There were six of them. Too many, Zastra realised. Even for Ithgol. At their feet Jerenik stirred. Zastra stepped over his prostrate body, drew her sword and tugged a
knife from her belt. Ithgol issued a strange sort of rattle.

  ‘Just stay out of my way.’

  ‘Ha!’ cried Zastra, launching her knife with deadly accuracy at the leading Skurg. Ithgol stepped forward and two more Kyrgs fell to the ground before his swinging scythal. Another rushed at Zastra, his axe whistling past her ear as she swayed to one side and impaled him on her sword, the force of his charge forcing her into the surf. She twisted free and turned to find Ithgol standing over the fallen bodies of the remaining Skurgs. Zastra hailed the dinghy but the crew couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hear her. The white sails of the Wind of Golmeira appeared on the horizon and the dinghy gathered speed and headed towards it. Ithgol spat into the sand.

  ‘Golmeiran cowards.’

  ‘Quite a few Kyrgs too, saving themselves as fast as they can,’ remarked Zastra. ‘Come, on, we’d better find cover. If we’re lucky the rest of the Skurgs will think we’ve escaped with the others.’

  There was a groan at their feet. Jerenik sat up and dabbed his bleeding head. ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘Tell you later.’ Zastra examined his wound, a nasty gash above his hairline. ‘Can you move, do you think?’

  ‘My head hurts.’

  ‘You’re lucky this one saved you,’ Ithgol growled. ‘If you can’t help yourself, you’re a danger to your comrades.’

  ‘I couldn’t just leave him there to be killed, or worse. Why did you help, if that’s what you believe?’ Zastra protested.

  ‘You were unhurt. Honour demands that I help uninjured comrades. Even stupid ones.’

  Zastra snorted in disbelief. ‘What does a Kyrg know of honour?’

  ‘Will someone tell me what in the stars is going on?’ interjected Jerenik.

  ‘Looks like we’re stranded, but at least we’re alive. For which we have Ithgol to thank.’

  ‘Keep your thanks. Save your breath to walk.’

  They dragged Jerenik between them.

  ‘Keep by the water’s edge,’ said Zastra. ‘It’ll wash away our tracks.’ Every so often she glanced backwards but no more Skurgs appeared.

  ‘Must have been the sintegrack,’ muttered Jerenik. ‘Those little bags. I overheard Dastrin giving the orders. Some new weapon that the Skurgs stole from us. Dastrin was desperate to get his greedy little hands on it.’

  Zastra whistled softly. ‘Such a powerful weapon would make Thorlberd completely invincible. No wonder he wanted it back.’

  They rounded a headland and were at last out of sight of the landing beach. Jerenik slumped to the ground. Blood still oozed from the gash in his head and his face was grey. Zastra tore a strip of material from the bottom of her vest and wrapped it round his head to staunch the flow.

  ‘Stay down,’ Ithgol commanded in a low voice. He crawled towards a large clump of sand grass and used it as cover to observe the landing point. A few moments later he returned. ‘A group of Skurgs came and picked up the bodies of the others, but they’ve gone now.’

  ‘Good.’ Zastra tied off her rudimentary bandage, ignoring Jerenik’s complaints as she pulled the knot tight. ‘Let’s hope they think we’ve all escaped.’

  Out to sea the white sails of the Wind of Golmeira flickered and disappeared over the horizon.

  ‘They’re leaving us behind!’ Jerenik’s voice rose in alarm.

  ‘Let’s not panic,’ said Zastra. ‘Dastrin told us the mission couldn’t fail. Once the reinforcements arrive they may try again.’

  ‘So, we should just wait ’til they come?’ Jerenik tested his bandage gingerly. ‘That sounds rather dull don’t it? Why don’t we sneak in and steal the sintegrack? Then, when Dastrin comes back, we threaten to blow up the ship unless he lets us go. What d’you think, mountain girl?’

  ‘I think that whatever brains you had have fallen out of that hole in your head.’

  ‘Why? I know you want to escape too. It’s been written on your face ever since they caught us.’

  ‘That may be so,’ admitted Zastra. ‘But threatening to blow up the ship isn’t exactly a great plan, especially as we would be on it.’

  ‘Mmm. Suppose you have a point.’

  ‘I would rather we destroy this sintegrack than let Dastrin get his hands on it. It’s evil. You saw what it did to Jagula and the others.’

  Ithgol grunted in agreement. ‘It’s a coward’s weapon. Killing at a distance.’

  Jerenik’s eyes lit up. ‘I like it. With the noise we’d make, Dastrin’d have to come back to see what was going on. I’m not so sure the cowardly flekk will come back otherwise.’

  ‘The question is, how? Bearing in mind that two boatloads of us couldn’t get through the defences last time and there are only three of us.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ offered Jerenik. ‘A plan of genius, I believe.’

  Ithgol snuffled scornfully.

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ said Zastra.

  ‘Wait ’til night then bluff our way in. Our not-so-friendly Ithgol here can pretend to be one of them. We find the sintegrack and set it alight. Don’t suppose either of you have a firering?’

  Zastra dug around in one of her pockets until she found the piece of Hedrik’s firering. It looked tiny in her palm, discoloured where it had split off from the fragment she had left behind with Findar. Jerenik reached for it and her fingers closed around it instinctively.

  ‘Even if we can find the sintegrack, how do we make sure we don’t blow ourselves up with it?’

  ‘I can’t be expected to think of everything. You’re the Watchmaster-in-waiting after all.’

  Zastra scratched her head, but couldn’t find a way around the problem.

  ‘Let’s go have another look at that compound,’ she suggested at last. ‘Maybe seeing it will give us some ideas.’

  They skirted inland until they found a vantage point overlooking the rear of the Skurg stockade. The Skurgs were rebuilding the fence, dragging bodies of the Golmeirans inside the wooden dome. Zastra tried not to think about what would happen to them. She pointed towards a small stone square lying in the ground at some distance from the dome.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t you have your navigation telescope?’ Jerenik asked.

  Zastra rummaged around in the pockets of her trousers and brought out her small telescope with a cry of satisfaction.

  ‘I forgot I had this.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t get a bang on the head too?’

  Zastra opened out the telescope and trained it on a pair of Skurgs who were heading towards the stone square. Each carried an armful of small brown packages.

  ‘They’ve got the sintegrack.’

  One of the Skurgs lifted the stone and disappeared into the ground, followed by his companion. They re-emerged a few moments later, empty-handed.

  ‘That must be where they keep it.’ Zastra snapped her telescope shut. ‘Makes sense. They don’t want to accidentally blow up their home.’

  ‘That makes it easier,’ said Jerenik. ‘There’s no lock I can’t pick.’

  ‘It might work. They’ll think they’ve got the better of us. I doubt they’d expect another attempt tonight. I’ve got an idea to get us past the stockade, but it’s risky. Are you sure you’re both in?’

  Ithgol grunted. Zastra took that for assent. Jerenik grinned.

  ‘Beats just sitting here,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was a long wait for night to fall. Jerenik began to fidget.

  ‘I’m bored.’

  Ithgol hissed at him, but he would not be silenced.

  ‘I’m starving to death here.’

  ‘I’ll kill you myself if you can’t be quiet.’

  ‘Typical Kyrg. Always offering to kill something. If only you turned your violent urges towards something we could eat. A nice vizzal perhaps? There must be something to hunt on this wretched island.’

  ‘Fine.’ Zastra stood up. ‘I’ll go.’

  Ithgol rose with her.

  ‘I will join you.’


  ‘I would offer to help,’ said Jerenik, ‘I’m an excellent hunter, but I should probably rest. I could have brain swelling.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want that. Your head is quite big enough already,’ said Zastra as she adjusted his bandage, reassuring him that his brain was very much still inside his skull.

  ‘I’ll enjoy the peace even if we don’t find anything,’ Zastra remarked as they left Jerenik behind. Ithgol responded with a low rattle of agreement.

  The sandy island was dry and there was little vegetation, none of which looked edible. Ithgol crouched down and snuffled the air. He froze and then followed an invisible trail that led towards a flat rock. Zastra sniffed the air too, but all she could detect was the faint saltiness of the sea. With a rapid flick of his wrist, Ithgol lifted the rock and impaled a small yellow lizard with the tip of his scythal blade.

  ‘Is it edible?’ Zastra asked suspiciously.

  ‘Not delicate enough for your stomach, Golmeiran?’

  Zastra didn’t think the lizard looked very appetising, but her belly was grumbling.

  ‘One’s not going to be enough.’

  Ithgol began sniffing the air again.

  ‘Can you really smell them?’

  ‘Kyrgs often track by scent. Our womenfolk are better at it.’

  ‘Womenfolk?’ It had never crossed Zastra’s mind that there must be female Kyrgs. They ventured deeper into the island, where the terrain became increasingly rocky. Ithgol sniffed out three more lizards. Close to the base of a steep hill, they found a large stream and the Kyrg used his strength to lift rocks from the stream bed, unearthing some green-coloured shellfish. As he lifted a particularly large stone, a river snake as long as his leg was startled out of its slumber. Zastra speared it with her knife.

  ‘That should do even for Jerenik.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. He eats even more than he talks.’

  ‘I would say that was impossible, but I’ve seen him at breakfast and I’d have to agree with you.’