‘Whose soldiers?’
Kylen averted her eyes. ‘I know the tread of a Golmeiran boot when I see it.’
‘Can you figure out what happened?’
‘Hard to say. There’s no blood, no signs of violence.’
Zastra knelt down at the smallest of the graves and placed her palm gently against the soil.
‘Except this.’
‘We will avenge them,’ Kylen said grimly.
Zastra closed her fist around a handful of cold dirt. ‘I’d forsake vengeance if I could just have them back. Can you do that, for me, Kylen? Can you bring them back?’
There was a loud noise from the line of trees that surrounded the smallholding. Kylen whirled round.
‘Someone is here!’ she cried. Polina stood still and narrowed her eyes. ‘There – I have him.’ She pointed to a spot in the treeline and Ithgol and Kylen dragged out a tall man whose thick black hair was peppered with grey.
‘Kikan!’ Zastra exclaimed. The man was as stiff as a plank of wood. Kylen nudged him sharply in the ribs, but he appeared unable to speak.
‘Release him, Pol,’ said Zastra. ‘He was a friend of Etta’s.’
Polina exhaled and Kikan came back to life. He glared at them with intense suspicion, his eyes widening in recognition when they landed on Zastra.
‘Come,’ he said brusquely, striding towards the overgrown path that led down to Fivepeaks village.
‘Never thought I’d meet anyone with fewer manners than Ithgol,’ Kylen remarked. ‘Are all your friends this rude, Zastra?’ She headed off after Kikan, without waiting for the others. Polina sighed, smoothed the displaced soil on the small grave and helped Zastra with her backpack.
‘Some, but not all,’ she said, with a rueful smile.
Kikan’s long legs took him down the mountain at a speed they struggled to match. Polina soon lagged behind, but Kikan didn’t check to see if they were keeping up. Zastra scrambled past Kylen and Ithgol until she reached the tall farmer.
‘Slow down, Kikan. What happened?’
He did not break stride. ‘Frecha will tell you. And once she has, you must go. Trouble follows you, Layna.’
It was clear there was no point in asking more questions. The big farmer had always been taciturn, but it was certain he blamed her for something. But what? Then she realised. Why else would Golmeiran soldiers come to Etta’s house, if not to look for her? Of course she was to blame. Fin, Dalbric and Etta are dead and it’s my fault.
They reached Frecha’s house. Kikan banged on the door three times and strode off. Zastra tried the door. It was not locked and she eased it open. She remembered the dark passage well, and how it opened out in a room that appeared larger than she recalled. The huge loom that had once filled half the room was no longer there.
‘Frecha?’ she whispered. A tiny woman hobbled in from the kitchen, arthritis-ravaged fingers gripping the top of a cane.
‘Well now. You’ve come back to us, duckie. But too late, alas.’
Grief choked every ounce of breath from Zastra’s body. Her knees buckled and Frecha shuffled towards her in alarm.
‘By the stars, you misunderstand me!’ she cried ‘They’re alive. Your brother and Dalbric. Well, they were last time I saw them. We had the graves dug to put those soldiers off the scent.’
Zastra stared at her, hardly daring to hope.
‘They are alive? Truly?’
‘Yes, duckie.’
‘And Etta?’
Frecha hung her head.
‘The miner’s lung took her two winters since, I’m afraid.’
Zastra and the weaver shared a moment of silent sadness. Etta, the woman who had taken Zastra and Findar into her house even though she had barely enough to feed herself and her son. The weaver nodded, her eyes bright with suppressed tears.
‘She told me what you’d done for her, Zastra. How you got caught getting her the yaya-root. It gave her two more summers than she would have had otherwise. When she died, Dalbric married my Hanra and he and Fin moved in with us.’
‘You know my true name? And Dalbric married Hanra?’
Frecha turned towards the kitchen. ‘Let me make a pot of chala,’ she said. ‘We’ve much to talk about.’
Chapter Twelve
Dalbric had known it was a bad idea to bring Hanra but he took no pleasure in being proved right. It had been drizzling all day and rainwater seeped into his clothes. Even his socks were damp and he was chilled all the way to the ends of his toes. Towards evening, the wind picked up, making it feel even colder. Poor Fin was shivering so hard that droplets of water trembled as they dripped from his nose. Yet the lad made no complaint. Dalbric wished the same could be said for his wife.
‘Another night out in the open? You can’t be serious?’ she protested. ‘Not in this storm.’
His shoulders ached under the weight of his backpack, loaded down with what Hanra had insisted were essential items, despite his instructions to take as little as possible. It wouldn’t be so bad if she would carry some of it herself, but her belongings had been added to his after half a day’s journey, as a trade-off between her carrying on or refusing to budge another inch. And now, of course, she was whining again.
‘We can’t risk an inn. What if Brutila was there?’
‘Brutila, Brutila. Is she all you can think about? What about my poor aching bones? Rheumatism runs in our family you know. All my joints have seized up.’
‘All ’cept your jaw. That’s working well enough, I see.’
‘Don’t be so mean. You bit my head off last night after I’d made a lovely fire for us, and then ruined it by stomping all over it. You might have let me finish making the chala. What I’d give now to be sat in front of Ma’s stove.’
Dalbric tried very hard to stay calm.
‘Your fire would have been visible to half the villages in the Border Mountains,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘If Brutila saw it—’
‘Why are you so obsessed by some harmless old woman? I bet she’s still at Kirkholme, eating yellow-root soup at the inn. All I’m asking for is one night with a proper fire and a roof over our heads.
‘You could go home.’
‘What, back into the hands of that evil woman?’
‘You can’t have it both ways. Either she’s evil or she’s harmless.’
Hanra sat down on a fallen tree trunk and folded her arms.
‘What are we even doing? I refuse to walk another step until we’ve got some kind of plan.’
Dalbric lowered his backpack wearily and took a sip of water from his flask. There was no point trying to reason with Hanra when she was in such a mood. His best hope was to wait her out. Besides, he had to admit that he hadn’t thought through what would happen once they left Fivepeaks. There hadn’t been time.
‘We should find my sister,’ said Findar, quietly. It was the first time he had spoken since they had left the village.
‘Layna? What use would she be?’ Hanra asked.
‘Her name is Zastra, so Dalbric says. She always knew what to do.’
Dalbric scratched his head.
‘It’s true that she could always come up with a plan, your sister. Although they usually involved getting herself into trouble. Remember that winter we ran out of food? Etta was going to kill one of the goats to cook and you begged her not to?’
Findar nodded. ‘She went out into a blizzard and killed a grey vizzal instead.’
Dalbric coughed. ‘Actually, there ain’t any such animal as a grey vizzal. Your sister roused up a scrittal nest.’
‘Ugh! How disgusting,’ exclaimed Hanra.
Dalbric shrugged. ‘If you’d not eaten for three days, you’d have eaten scrittal meat just like we did. Only Zastra could do something so brave and yet so stupid. She nearly got herself killed. Ain’t nothing nastier than a nest of angry scrittals. You should have seen the bites and scratches – all over her arms and legs.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Findar.
> ‘She hid them from you, because she didn’t want you to worry. You can easily die from a scrittal bite.’
‘Seems to be a lot your sister hid from you,’ Hanra said acidly. ‘And since it’s her fault we’re in this mess, I don’t see how finding her will help.’
‘Do you think she’s even still alive?’ Findar asked.
‘Absolutely,’ responded Dalbric. ‘Your sister’s a survivor. She promised she’d come back for you and she was always one to keep her word.’
Hanra snorted.
‘If that’s so, then where is she? She’s been gone for ages.’
‘Last we heard, she was a sailor in Thorlberd’s fleet. We could head for the coast and start asking questions. What d’you say, Fin?’
Findar nodded his assent. Dalbric hefted up his backpack and held out his hand to Hanra. She allowed him to help her up.
‘Fine. But can we please find somewhere warm tonight? I’m worried poor Fin will catch his death.’
Dalbric saw through Hanra’s sudden concern for Findar, but the mention of Frecha’s fire had made him yearn for warmth and the chance to dry his clothes. There had been no sign of any pursuers. Surely one night in an inn couldn’t hurt?
Chapter Thirteen
Brutila prodded the pile of embers with her forefinger. Cold. She drew her cloak tight around her. It was one of the few possessions she had not sold during the desperate years of her cintara addiction. Fur-lined and wax coated, it repelled the water and kept cold at bay. Her four companions weren’t so lucky in their standard uniform capes, but they knew better than to complain. She had been lucky to get them assigned to her. Thorlberd had stripped her of her title of master at arms when she had failed to capture Zastra, and she had no official rank. However, she still had sufficient mindweaving skills to persuade the captain of the Kirkholme garrison to lend her four of her best guards, together with a promise to share the credit if they captured Thorlberd’s missing nephew. Finding Findar would be only one piece of the puzzle. It would regain favour with Thorlberd and prove she could still be useful, but Findar was just the beginning. Once she had the boy, Zastra would be bound to come for him. And Brutila would be waiting.
She had questioned all the storekeepers in Kirkholme and although some had been reluctant to talk, the herbalist had been pleased to inform her that young Dalbric hailed from a small village called Fivepeaks, a few days’ journey from Kirkholme. They had no trouble finding the village, but struck an apparently dead end when they were told that Dalbric and his family had disappeared. Despite Brutila drawing on her powers, she could find no further information. None of the villagers had any idea where they had gone. Fortunately, one of the guards, Mareka, was a tracker, and had found traces leading up the mountain to an abandoned smallholding. The fresh graves had not fooled Brutila for a moment. Mareka had cast around and found three sets of footprints heading east. The previous night, they had glimpsed a small fire in the distance, and now they had reached that very campsite. Mareka returned from scouting the immediate area.
‘It was them. They are still heading east.’
Brutila stuck out a hand. The drizzle was beginning to turn to rain and the wind was whipping up. If their prey had felt the need to light a fire last night despite the risk, such bad weather would surely send them in search of shelter.
‘Where’s the nearest inn?’
One of the soldiers hailed from the Border Mountains. He pointed east.
‘Over the next ridge is the Finistron valley. There’s a village with a small inn. Not much to speak of, and the owner is reckoned an unfriendly sort.’
‘I don’t care how friendly it is,’ remarked Brutila. ‘I reckon our luck is about to turn.’
Chapter Fourteen
Kylen peered down at the base of the valley.
‘If we go straight down and back up the opposite side, it will be quicker than going all the way round.’
The gradient was steep and peppered with rocks made slippery by rain. One false step could send them sliding all the way down to the bottom, where a snaking band of white foam indicated a fast-flowing stream. It would be easy to turn an ankle or worse. And the way up the other side to regain the track didn’t look any less treacherous.
‘I’m not going down there,’ Polina protested, brushing a cloud of flies away from her face. ‘Ithgol said the soldiers kept to the path. They must have had good reason.’
Kylen’s lip curled.
‘Aye. Golmeiran soldiers don’t like getting their clothes dirty. Is that your objection? You might get a little mud on yourself?’
Polina flushed.
‘What if they broke off the track somewhere?’
‘It’s unlikely,’ remarked Zastra, examining the head of the valley through her telescope. ‘It’s sheer rock all round. Look, we can’t afford to waste time arguing. Pol, if we help you, will you try? I do think it would save time. And we need to move quickly.’
Frecha had told them how Brutila and her four soldiers had come to Fivepeaks asking questions. Frecha herself had hidden with a friend in a neighbouring village until she saw the coast was clear. At Etta’s cottage, Ithgol had picked up Brutila’s trail and they had set off in pursuit. Kylen cupped her hands round her mouth and yelled.
‘Ithgol!’
The Kyrg was further along the path. He turned and Kylen pointed down into the valley and then across to the other side. The Kyrg nodded and plunged downwards. Kylen, too, lost no time in beginning the descent.
‘I see they’ve decided for me,’ Polina said bitterly. Cautiously, she began to descend. Zastra stayed close to her, helping her over the particularly treacherous parts. Together they slipped and slid their way towards the bottom of the slope.
‘Come on, slowpokes!’ Kylen yelled. She and Ithgol had already reached the stream.
‘I’m trying!’ Polina returned. At that instant, her heel skidded on a mossy stone. She fell onto her back and began to slide down the wet slope, gathering speed.
‘Zastra, help!’
Zastra was a few paces in front. She just had time to reach out and grab Polina’s jerkin, but the force of Polina’s descent pulled her off her feet. The ground was so slick there was nothing to hold on to; no means to slow them down. Zastra clung onto Polina as cold mud forced its way through the seams of her leggings and up the small of her back.
‘We’re going to drown!’ Polina cried in dismay. They were hurtling towards the stream, which was bigger than it had appeared from the path. White rapids plunged over half-submerged rocks. If they fell in, there was every chance they would be swept away.
Zastra dug her heels into the ground, but could not find any purchase in the slimy mud. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young tree growing out of the slope. She flung out her hand and grabbed the slender trunk, her other hand still clasping Polina’s jerkin. The sapling bent under their combined weight, but held, and they came to an abrupt stop with Polina’s legs dangling above the roaring torrent. Zastra’s left shoulder burned, weakened by a previous injury, but she gritted her teeth and held on until Polina had scrambled back to safety. Carefully, they rose to their feet and began to pluck bits of moss and twigs from their clothes.
‘I look a state,’ Polina said in distress. ‘I only washed this tunic yesterday.’
Polina always contrived to look smart and elegant even in travelling clothes, but now her back and legs were slick with mud and her face spattered with brown splotches. Zastra guessed she didn’t look much better herself. Kylen hailed them from above.
‘You all right down there?’
Polina muttered something unintelligible. Zastra helped her wade across the shallowest part of the fast-flowing stream and they climbed up to meet the others.
‘Not a word!’ Polina snapped, as Kylen grinned at their dishevelled appearance.
‘Have you picked up the trail?’ Zastra asked, examining the stony path intently. Dalbric had taught her much of the art of tracking, but she struggled to find anythi
ng on such a surface. Had they lost the trail? Ithgol sniffed the air a few times.
‘This way. We’ve wasted enough time.’
He strode forward, not waiting for Polina and Zastra to catch their breath.
‘You’d think he was following their scent, the way he snuffles like that,’ Kylen remarked.
‘He may well be,’ said Zastra. She had seen Ithgol scent out lizards hidden under rocks before. It was quite possible he could detect trace smells that she and the others could not.
‘I’m surprised he’s not overpowered by the stink coming off you and Polina. I don’t know what was in that mud, but I suspect some of the forest animals have been using it as a toilet.’
She jogged after Ithgol. Polina shrugged her backpack into position.
‘Do they always have to be so ill-mannered?’
‘Don’t take it personally. Ithgol doesn’t really like anyone and Kylen hates all Golmeirans. Mindweavers most of all.’
‘Yet they make an exception for you.’
‘Kylen feels in debt to me because I helped rescue Zax. And Ithgol and I learned to work together when we were crewmates on Dastrin’s ship. Our captain was a nasty piece of work. That sort of experience breaks down barriers. Come on, we best hurry, or they’ll be out of sight.’
By providing a stream of encouragement, Zastra helped Polina keep up the steady jog necessary to catch the others. They continued through an increasingly heavy drizzle until it was completely dark. Zastra lit her jula lamp and suggested they make camp. She would have liked to continue through the night, but Polina had begun to flag. The mindweaver would be no use to them if she was too exhausted to challenge Brutila. Kylen began preparing a fat woodcock that Zastra had shot that morning. Ithgol produced a handful of guber-roots he had harvested during the day, and he and Zastra gathered armfuls of kindling. It took all the fire-craft that Dalbric had taught Zastra for her to coax a fire from the damp wood. She set up a makeshift spit for the woodcock and the savoury aroma spread out into the damp night air, along with welcome heat from the spitting fire.
‘Thanks for your help, my lady.’ Kylen directed her sarcasm towards Polina, who had slumped to the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk. ‘Don’t know what we’d do without you. Except move twice as fast.’
Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set Page 52