Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  Fin!

  The migaradon weaved towards her. A chain hung from one of its hind legs. Zastra ducked as the chain clattered into the parapet behind her, dislodging a chunk of merlon. She turned and followed the migaradon’s flight with her crossbow. She had a clean shot at its belly but she lowered the bow. If she hit the third heart, the beast would plummet to its death and take Findar with it.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Moreen yelled. ‘Take the shot.’

  The migaradon circled round and back towards her, following the line of the wall. As it swept by, Zastra dropped the crossbow and sprinted along the ledge, matching its path. As it began to bank away, she leapt, reaching out to grab the bottom of the chain. The cold of the metal was a shock against her palms, but she clung on as she was swept out over the courtyard, adding her weight to the beast’s burden. The migaradon groaned and despite its desperate efforts, they began to descend. Hand over hand, Zastra climbed up the chain.

  ‘Fin! I’m coming.’

  They lost more height and the metal plate at the end of the chain scraped against the cobbles. Sparks flew. Brutila kicked at the sides of the migaradon. With ungainly flaps of its huge wings, it gained a little height, but not enough to clear the front wall of the fort. Just before she smashed into the rapidly approaching gates, Zastra let go of the chain, rolling on the cobbles to break her fall. The metal plate whipped past her head. The migaradon, relieved of her weight, just managed to clear the fortress wall. Silhouetted by Horval, the larger of the twin moons, it headed into the distant sky.

  ‘Findar!’ she cried in anguish, but he was gone. A line of Golmeiran guards and Kyrgs spread out in front of her, swords and scythals drawn. Beyond them, on the other side of the gates, Alboraz and Polina were waiting with reinforcements. And she needed to get to her brother. Zastra pulled out her sword and charged.

  Brutila ignored the fists that pounded against her back with surprising strength.

  Faster, you lazy beast! Even as she urged the migaradon onwards, she knew it was hopeless. Through the mind meld, she felt its exhaustion and the throbbing pain of two heart-wounds. They travelled barely half a league before the migaradon sank down and landed heavily next to the cobbled road that cut through the thick pine forest towards Golmeira. With a sigh, it tipped onto its side, depositing Brutila and Findar onto the ground.

  ‘Well boy, it looks like we’ll have to walk,’ she began, but Findar was no longer beside her. She felt for his mind. He was running back down the road. Towards his sister. Zastra can’t help you, boy. Brutila set off in pursuit.

  The muscles in Zastra’s arms burned. She recalled only a blur of arms, feet and clashing blades. At some point, she had been joined by Ithgol. Somehow, he must have fought his way down to her. And then all of Ixendred’s Kyrgs had inexplicably collapsed around her. She was panting, her sword heavy and blooded, but they had defeated what remained of the gate guard. Ithgol raised the portcullis as she lowered the drawbridge. Alboraz and a bunch of Sendorans on fellgryffs leapt across the trench to join them, even before the drawbridge was fully bedded down. Polina followed swiftly after.

  ‘Thank the stars Ithgol was with you. His mind was open and I could see enough to help.’

  That explained the collapsing Kyrgs. The courtyard seethed with dark forms. Golmeirans and Kyrgs in black uniforms clashed with Sendorans in paler garb. The fighting was intense, but Zastra sheathed her sword and ran towards the drawbridge.

  ‘Help them, Pol,’ she cried over her shoulder. ‘I have to go after Fin.’

  ‘Zastra, wait!’ Ithgol dragged a piebald horse towards her. It had no saddle, but she leapt on and dug her heels into its flanks. Her startled mount leapt through the gateway without touching the drawbridge.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Brutila shifted her load from one shoulder to the other. Who’d have thought such a skinny runt would be so heavy? It had been a mistake to force the boy into a stupor, but he’d made such a fuss when she’d caught him, yelling and wriggling like a fish on a hook. In a spark of rage, she blasted his mind into submission. Now she had no choice but to carry him until he regained consciousness.

  Behind them, the square silhouette of Finistron was bathed in an orange glow. Most likely the battle was still raging. Ixendred had been a fool to fall for Zastra’s little trick, but even so, Leodra’s daughter and her Sendoran friends had been heavily outnumbered. Their ill-conceived plan was surely doomed and all for nothing. Brutila had Zastra’s brother. For once, she had won. She dumped Findar on the ground and checked his bonds. His wrists were still tied securely behind him with leather straps cut from the saddle of the migaradon. No point risking him running off again. She dragged him off the road and into the trees, took out her flask and drank deeply. As her breathing slowed, her mind came back into focus. She needed to keep moving. She kicked out at the soft flesh and the boy gave a muffled yelp.

  ‘Come on, little lordling. Time to use your own legs. We’ve a long way to go.’

  There was just enough moonslight to distinguish the road from the forest. Her horse’s hooves thundered against the cobbles as Zastra urged it on. As she guided her mount round a curve in the road, it stumbled, plunging to its knees and Zastra barely managed to keep them both upright. Heart pounding, she eased down into a trot. She would be no help to Findar if she broke her neck. She scoured the sky again but there was no sign of the migaradon. If it had already flown out of range, her cause was hopeless. A metallic wail cut through the night, surprisingly close. Her mount whickered and came to a stop.

  ‘Walk on!’ Zastra urged her reluctant mount forward. A hundred paces down the road a dark mound blocked their path. The horse backed away and Zastra fought to calm it. Once she had done so, she jumped off and tied the reins to a nearby branch.

  Drawing her sword, she approached the obstruction. It wheezed heavily and the air carried a putrid stench. She reached in her breast pocket for her fragment of firering and struck it against the edge of her sword. By the fleeting glare of the sparks she saw how the migaradon was lying; on its side with her two crossbow bolts protruding from its belly. Golden eyes glinted at her and its twin claws scrabbled against the cobbles. The sparks from the firering died and they were plunged back into darkness. The image of the shower of light glittered behind Zastra’s eyelids, temporarily blinding her. She reached out into the darkness, searching for the belly of the migaradon with her hand, making sure to stay well out of reach of its talons. The scar on her back served as a reminder of the damage those twin claws could do. Her fingers found the shaft of a bolt, and she continued down the belly until she felt a heartbeat pulsing beneath her fingertips. The migaradon sighed and twitched as Zastra grabbed one of its scales and eased it back to reveal soft tendons. She positioned the tip of her sword against the exposed flesh, placed both hands on the hilt and plunged it downwards. Even such a creature deserved to be delivered from its pain. The migaradon shuddered and was still.

  Zastra wiped her sword clean and re-sheathed it. Brutila and Findar couldn’t have gone far on foot, but in the dark she couldn’t tell whether they had continued down the road or cut off into the forest. In her haste to chase after her brother she had not thought to bring a torch or a jula lamp. However, growing up with Dalbric and Etta, she had learned that the forest could provide many things. She stepped into the treeline, searching for the distinctive rough bark of a silver pine. She soon found a spot where a large branch had snapped off and a lump of smooth sap had collected. She used her knife to prise it loose, then cut herself a sturdy stick, slashed a deep cross into one end and lodged the ball of sap into the split wood. Next, she collected pine cones and dry needles and made a pile in the centre of the road, well away from the trees, and struck another shower of sparks. Once the pile was burning, she dipped the sap end of her makeshift torch into the flames until it caught and then stamped down to extinguish the fire. She didn’t want to start a conflagration in the forest, not with Findar so close.

  By the
light of her makeshift torch, she searched the soft ground at the edge of the cobbled road. A fresh bootprint pointed towards the treeline. She crouched down and examined it. It was the right size for a woman like Brutila, and deep, as if the owner was heavy, or carrying something substantial. Zastra followed the trail. Here and there, partial footprints or dimples in the carpet of dropped needles showed where her quarry had passed. Brutila was following the road, but staying hidden just a few paces inside the treeline. Zastra began to run.

  Brutila lost the last remnants of her patience.

  ‘Stop dragging boy. Or I may decide you’re less trouble to me dead.’

  Findar dug in his heels and came to a complete stop.

  ‘If you wanted to kill me you’d have done so already.’

  Brutila dug her fingers into the boy’s arm. Her prisoner did not cry out, even though she knew she must be hurting him.

  ‘Maybe I do need you alive, but not necessarily undamaged.’

  She dragged her reluctant captive forward another hundred paces or so but her hands were cold and her fingers ached from the constant strain of maintaining her grip. As if he sensed her weakness, Findar began to twist and turn. He broke free.

  ‘Get back here!’ Brutila yelled, but the rustles and snaps told her Findar was ignoring her command and running towards the highway. She groped for his mind in the darkness. The lad was broadcasting fear, yet it was mixed with a strong determination to escape. Just like your sister, all those years ago. Even as her thoughts turned to Zastra, Brutila was assailed by the memory of pain and the image of rocky ground rushing to meet her as she fought in vain to control a migaradon bent on self-destruction. It took intense concentration to chase away the hallucination and by then Findar was nearly out of range. Brutila cursed and set off in pursuit, mindless of the twigs and branches that grabbed at her clothes. My patience wears thin, lordling. Thorlberd may prefer I give you to him alive, but there’s a lot of pain between life and death.

  Zastra’s pine sap torch was guttering and she could see only a few paces ahead. She thought she heard a noise and stopped to listen. There it was. Feet pounding against stone, heading towards her. She automatically reached for her crossbow, but her hand felt only air. Then she remembered it was back at Finistron, flung aside before she leapt for the migaradon. She reached for her sword and held the torch out in front of her. A small figure ran into the circle of light, hands tied behind his back. Zastra dropped the torch in surprise. As it hit the ground the ball of flaming sap was dislodged and rolled to the side of the road where it lay flickering against the cobbles.

  ‘Fin!’ Zastra cried with joy. The boy stopped and sucked in air. She untied his hands, fumbling in her haste. He fixed his eyes upon her intently. Zastra tried to embrace him, but he held her off with one arm, dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small arc of metal. Tears blurred Zastra’s vision as she reached for her own fragment of firering and placed it on Findar’s palm. The two ends fit snugly together.

  ‘It’s really you,’ Fin whispered and at last he allowed her to pull him into a hug. She revelled in the feel of him, the smell of him. So familiar, yet so long lost.

  ‘Well, well. Isn’t this a lovely family reunion?’

  Brutila’s voice cut across the moment like a knife. Zastra felt a sharp probe try and force itself into her mind, but her mental wall was strong enough to block Brutila’s attempt to control her. She pulled Findar behind her.

  ‘You aren’t powerful enough, Brutila. Not any more.’

  The woman smiled thinly, her scar tugging at her upper lip.

  ‘Perhaps you can resist me. But he can’t.’

  Behind her, Fin sank to his knees and Brutila tossed something past Zastra. Metal glinted and before Zastra could react, Findar picked up the knife and pressed it against his own neck. His eyes were blank and unseeing.

  ‘I can make him do anything,’ Brutila crowed. ‘Even kill himself. Drop your sword, or I’ll cut his throat.’

  Zastra’s heart clenched and she let go the hilt of her sword. It clattered on the stone cobbles.

  ‘Leave him alone. He’s just a boy.’

  ‘You’re in no position to make demands.’ Slowly, deliberately, Brutila stepped forward and placed the tip of her own sword against Zastra’s ribs, just over her heart. Zastra recalled how, just moments ago, she had done the same to the migaradon before plunging her sword into its flesh. She tried to dismiss that unhelpful image from her mind.

  ‘This is a sweet moment. Leodra’s brats in my power at last.’

  Brutila flushed with triumph. Zastra spread her arms in a gesture of submission.

  ‘Let Fin go. He’s innocent. I give you my word I’ll come quietly if you let him go free.’

  ‘Thorlberd wouldn’t be happy with that. Your brother is much more valuable than you.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ Brutila sneered. ‘The lad has blue blood and if the test is anything to go by he’ll be very powerful. He’s young enough to be told where his loyalties should lie. But you are worth no more alive than you are dead.’

  Zastra’s mind began to race. If Fin is so valuable then Brutila won’t dare to kill him. She swung round and yanked the knife from Fin’s grip. She had only turned her back on Brutila for an instant, but by the time she had spun back, the grey-haired woman was lunging at her. With a flick of her wrist, Zastra used the hilt of the knife to deflect Brutila’s blade upwards. Its sharp edge grazed her collarbone. Brutila’s momentum took her into Zastra’s body and Zastra wrapped her arms around her and held her close. Her only chance was to deny Brutila space to wield her sword.

  ‘Run, Fin!’ she cried, hoping that Brutila would be too distracted by the fight to maintain control of her brother. Her opponent tried to pull away, but Zastra grasped her sword hand and wrestled for control of the weapon. Brutila was the heavier of the two, but Zastra’s years as a deckhand had given her a sturdy grip and they were well matched. Neither could gain ascendancy. A blurred movement at the edge of Zastra’s eyeline was followed by a thud. Brutila sank to the ground and Zastra was left holding the sword. Her enemy lay at her feet, blood oozing from her temple. Next to them, Ithgol stood, panting heavily, a large rock in his right hand.

  ‘Nice timing,’ Zastra remarked. She looked around for her brother. Findar was eyeing the Kyrg warily.

  ‘Don’t worry, Fin,’ she said. ‘Ithgol is a friend.’

  Findar’s brow furrowed.

  ‘How come you’re friends with a Kyrg?’

  ‘That’s a long story.’ Zastra turned to Ithgol. ‘Did we take the fort?’

  ‘I do not know. I left to follow you. I couldn’t find another horse, else I would have been here sooner.’

  The fortress was a long way behind them. No wonder Ithgol was breathing heavily. The Kyrg nudged Brutila with his toe.

  ‘It is your right,’ he stated.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘To kill her.’

  Zastra shuddered as she recalled Findar holding the knife to his own throat and the blank look in his eyes. She had felt the heat of Brutila’s hatred as they had grappled and had no doubt that Brutila would kill her if she could. But as she looked down at the helpless form at their feet, she knew she couldn’t kill a defenceless person. Not even someone like Brutila.

  ‘Leave her,’ she said. ‘She will be no danger alone and unarmed. We must go back and help the others. If it’s not too late.’

  ‘What others?’ asked Findar.

  ‘Sendorans mainly. They were helping me rescue you.’

  ‘You’ve some strange friends.’

  That made Zastra smile. ‘That’s true. But we live in strange times and such friends are most welcome.’ She clapped Ithgol on the back.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Thorlberd’s gecko and hawk standard had been cut down and the courtyard was packed full of celebrating Sendorans. Zastra recognised some faces from the shanty town among them. There was the musician who’d s
old her the trout, clutching a gaunt woman and a baby, and the hakash seller was holding up a small barrel, offering free drinks. Every moment, more poured through the open gates. Families, carrying their meagre possessions and members of the working parties, all hatreds temporarily suspended in the general delight. Zastra forced her way through the crowd in search of Alboraz and Kylen. She found them in the cellars, assessing the food stores.

  Kylen gave a small smile that widened when her eyes fell on Zastra’s brother.

  ‘You found him!’

  Zastra performed the necessary introductions.

  ‘I see you got what you came for,’ Alboraz remarked. ‘After leaving us to fend for ourselves.’

  ‘I was confident you could manage without me,’ Zastra returned.

  ‘Indeed we did. But now we have another problem.’ Alboraz swept his arm around the storeroom. ‘Ixendred laid down enough stores for his garrison to last a siege of several years. But our people have flocked here for protection, fearing that once Ixendred returns he will kill every Sendoran outside the fortress in revenge. And they are probably right. Yet if we let everyone in, our stores would run out before autumn.’

  ‘We cannot turn them away,’ Kylen insisted.

  ‘We could offer sanctuary at Uden’s Teeth,’ Zastra suggested.

  Alboraz turned to her. ‘You would do that? It’s a noble gesture. But how will they get there? We have no ships.’

  ‘We plan to rendezvous with the Obala to the east of Castanton. They will look for us on the third day of Moonscrescent. Can your people get to the coast? Somewhere they can hide until we arrive?’