Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  She snapped the telescope shut so forcefully that the casing cracked.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Zastra suppressed a groan as Girtil, their supervisor, repeated her long list of instructions regarding their duties and reminded them for the third time exactly how to behave if they came across anyone of importance while they were going about their business. Zastra glanced longingly at the door to the cramped storeroom, as full of brooms, mops and buckets as it was with cleaners. She sighed audibly and received a warning nudge from Bodel.

  ‘… cleaners should not be seen. If you are careless enough to be in view when a soldier or mindweaver comes by, step backwards and bow. Do not move until they leave, unless they give you an order to do otherwise. I have counted to the last candlestick the contents of each room. If a single cup is missing, you will all be searched. The dungeons are not yet so full that they couldn’t find room for thieves. Does everyone understand their assignments, or must I go through it again?’ Girtil turned her gaze on a freckled youth who had asked for the instructions to be repeated. She was not alone. As if sensible of the general displeasure directed towards him, the boy nodded vigorously and at last Girtil released them. Zastra grabbed the nearest bucket and mop and was first out of the door.

  ‘Slow down!’ Bodel followed, carrying a duster and broom. ‘People will be suspicious. No cleaner is ever that eager to—’

  She stopped abruptly and stepped back towards the wall, bowing low. Zastra swivelled round and just about managed to mimic Bodel’s action as four soldiers marched by.

  ‘It’s not just our own necks if we get caught,’ Bodel remarked once the soldiers were safely out of earshot. ‘Vy got us this job. They could easily trace us back to her if things go wrong.’

  ‘I don’t intend to get caught,’ Zastra responded, but she kept her eyes lowered submissively as they continued along the corridor towards their assigned rooms. She wondered whether Kylen and the others had realised what she’d done. She had no regrets. Kastara was her responsibility. Hopefully they would forgive her eventually. As soon as they were out of sight of the gimlet-eyed Girtil, Bodel pulled Zastra aside.

  ‘The unproven live at the top of the mindweavers’ tower. They’ve all been given the day off to prepare for the celebrations, so I’m sure we’ll find Joril in her room. She was never one to get up early if she could help it.’

  The mindweavers’ tower was at the opposite corner of the castle from their current location. The quickest way was across the open courtyard, but Girtil had been very clear that they were forbidden to use such a visible route. But if they took the corridors, they risked being spotted by other cleaners. Someone might start asking questions.

  ‘We could try the liden,’ Zastra suggested. ‘When we were children, we used to dare each other to get from one side of the castle to the other without being seen. I was quite good, as it happens.’

  Bodel pursed her lips in a way that reminded Zastra of when she was a child.

  ‘Wasn’t the liden strictly out of bounds?’

  Zastra grinned. ‘That made it even more fun. Bedrun wasn’t bad, either.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you and my daughter were carrying mops at the time. Besides, I’m not exactly built for squeezing through narrow spaces.’

  Zastra peered into the courtyard through a nearby window. Some soldiers were admiring a horse near the gates and a couple of trainees in purple shirts were sitting on the wide steps that led up to the doors of the great hall. Otherwise, it was empty.

  ‘Let’s try it. Since it’s out of bounds to cleaners, none of the others should be around to snitch on us.’

  They headed across the cobbled square. Zastra tried not to look up at the balconies that opened out onto the courtyard. They would be visible to anyone who happened to glance down. She hoped that no one would care about a pair of cleaners taking a short cut. They had reached the middle when the door at the base of the mindweavers’ tower opened and three figures headed towards them. Bodel cursed under her breath. Zastra’s stomach lurched as she recognised the slim, dark-haired man flanked by a pair of guards. Only one person could look quite as full of himself as Rastran. She looked for somewhere to hide, but in vain. They were completely exposed.

  ‘Bow,’ Bodel whispered. They edged aside to allow the group to pass and bowed so low that their foreheads almost touched their knees. Zastra held her mop in front of her as a screen.

  ‘See to it that Marl Heger’s daughter is seated next to me tonight,’ Rastran was saying. ‘She’s a pretty little thing and I can tell she likes me.’

  ‘Absolutely, my lord,’ came the polite response, ‘as long as your father agrees.’

  The group passed on without giving the two cleaners so much as a glance. It seemed that servants were indeed invisible. Zastra and Bodel reached the mindweavers’ tower without further incident. Bodel’s hand shook as she turned the door handle.

  ‘I’m not used to this sort of excitement.’

  They started up the stairs that wound around the interior apartments. As they approached the second floor landing, Zastra heard a familiar voice and froze.

  ‘Strinverl, enough prevarication. I demand to see Thorlberd immediately. I won’t be fobbed off any longer.’

  ‘With all respect, Master Brutila, your past failures mean you have no right to demand anything.’

  Zastra grabbed Bodel and backed into one of the narrow passages that led towards the liden. The shadows cloaked them just as Brutila came into view, together with a cadaverous man wearing a golden ceremonial cloak. Zastra clenched her fist as she recognised him. Strinverl. The night of Thorlberd’s ascension, she had witnessed him murder the previous highmaster, a woman that she had respected.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me this important news of yours? I might be able to pass on a good word,’ Strinverl continued.

  Brutila emitted a sound that was something between a laugh and a snarl.

  ‘And let you take all the credit? Don’t take me for a fool. I won’t forget how helpful you were.’

  Her voice was laden with sarcasm. Zastra let out her breath as they disappeared down the next flight of stairs. She was certain that Brutila would not have been fooled by her servant’s disguise. The woman’s hatred of her was so physical that Zastra half expected Brutila to sniff her out, even hidden in the shadows as she was.

  ‘I wish we’d stop bumping into old friends of yours,’ Bodel remarked. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’

  They checked each room on the top floor. Most were empty. For those that were not, a profuse apology and a muttered promise to return later diverted any suspicion. They found Joril in a corner room. She was half-dressed and alone. Zastra stopped dead in the doorway. Her sister looked so much like their mother, she could hardly breathe.

  ‘You aren’t supposed to clean until I’ve left,’ Joril began cuttingly. Her eyes widened as she recognised Bodel.

  ‘There you are, my dear.’ Bodel hurried towards her. ‘We’ve come to help you escape.’

  Joril started backwards.

  ‘Escape? Why in the stars would I want to do that?’

  Zastra found her voice at last.

  ‘Because you are in great danger.’

  Joril flapped at Bodel, who was trying to help lace up her shirt. ‘I can dress myself, thank you very much. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Zastra cried. ‘You are in danger.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly safe here. Who are you?’

  ‘Have they made you take cintara bark yet?’

  Joril flushed.

  ‘No one forced me. I volunteered. And I’ll take more if it will help me become a mindmover.’

  Zastra looked at her sister in disbelief. She really seemed to believe that she wasn’t being kept prisoner.

  ‘It’s Murthen Island all over again. Experimenting on ways to increase power, without a care for who gets hurt.’

  Joril’s eyes narrowed.

&nb
sp; ‘Murthen Island? I know all about that. You’re one of the rebels that murdered those unproven!’

  ‘We rescued them. They were being force-fed cintara, just like you. If you could see what they have suffered…’

  ‘Joril, please,’ Bodel interjected. ‘I’ve been so worried, waiting for you to visit your poor… poor Dalka, but of course, you never did.’

  Joril blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘I tried, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  Joril hesitated.

  ‘They said I needed a chaperone, but Jallal was always too busy.’

  ‘You’re a prisoner,’ Zastra insisted. ‘Only you don’t realise it. We’ve come to take you to a safe place, far from here. You can learn to be a mindweaver or mindmover, or whatever you want, but at your own pace and without being drugged.’

  ‘I don’t believe you! Go away, or I’ll call the guards.’ Joril’s eyes began to water, but Zastra could see they were tears of anger, not submission. She tried to keep her voice even.

  ‘There’s something you don’t know. A secret. If anyone found out, Thorlberd and Rastran would hurt you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Joril pushed past her and ran for the door. ‘Guards!’ she cried. ‘Help. Rebels!’

  ‘No!’ Zastra cried, but too late. An alarm sounded.

  ‘You stupid, stubborn child!’ Bodel exclaimed. ‘You don’t know what you’ve done.’

  Joril opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it again. Footsteps pounded up the stone stairs.

  ‘The liden. Quick. It’s our only chance.’ Zastra pulled Bodel into the narrow passage as three guards thundered past. She heaved a sigh of relief, but then a shadow fell across the entrance to the passageway. She pulled Bodel further into the darkness. As they left the light of the stairwell behind, Zastra felt a suffocating dread that was becoming horribly familiar. Not this. Not now.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Bodel, but fear had stolen Zastra’s ability to breathe. I need air. She staggered down some narrow stairs and out onto an open balcony. She gripped the balustrade as if she were wringing out a wet cloth.

  ‘You there! Servant girl.’

  Zastra froze. That cold, imperious voice was unmistakable. A gloved hand grabbed her shoulder and swung her round. Brutila’s scar pulled her mouth into a grimace of surprise, which quickly changed to triumph.

  ‘Well, well. What happy fortune this is. Grand Marl Thorlberd will certainly see me now.’

  Brutila jerked her head and Zastra’s arms were seized by two burly guards. She felt strangely weak and could offer only feeble resistance as she was dragged to her father’s old office. Brutila swept past the two sentries at the entrance. Inside was exactly as Zastra remembered it, except that her father’s leather chair was filled with the substantial frame of her uncle. Grand Marl Thorlberd’s expression changed from annoyance at the intrusion to wordless astonishment. To his left, a small huddle of mindweavers broke apart at their entrance. Among them was Rastran. He broke into an incredulous laugh. Zastra felt sick. All she could do now was try and throw them off the scent. She sucked in a deep breath and stamped down hard on the boot of one of her captors, wrenching herself free of the other. She pulled her knife out of her boot and made a dive towards her uncle.

  ‘Traitor!’ She knew her effort was futile. He was too well protected. She felt a sharp lance of pain as her mind was attacked by multiple mindweavers and two guards flung themselves on top of her. As she crashed to the ground, a strong hand grabbed her wrist and bent it back, forcing her to drop the knife. Her chest was pressed against the cold floor. All she could see were the tips of a pair of highly polished boots.

  ‘Zastra?’

  As Thorlberd spoke, a ripple of astonishment spread round the room. It seemed not everyone had recognised her.

  ‘Let her up.’

  Zastra was hauled to her feet and found herself face to face with her uncle. A few kinks of grey in his dark beard was all that indicated years had passed. She had forgotten his strong resemblance to her father and a sudden hatred coursed through her body. At that instant she would have killed him if she could. She struggled to free herself, but she was caught as tightly as a woodcock in a net.

  ‘I told you I would find her, my lord, and here she is,’ Brutila exulted. ‘A present for your ascension party.’

  ‘Take her to the dungeons,’ Thorlberd commanded. ‘And get me Strinverl. My niece will keep no secrets from me.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Zastra’s capture had drawn spectators, but Joril did not join the crowd that followed Brutila and her captive through the castle. She tried to make sense of what had just happened. Why had Bodel brought a traitor to her room? Someone who murdered unprovens. She retreated to her room, feeling sick. A loud knock at the door made her jump.

  ‘Joril? Are you there?’

  Myka burst in without waiting for a response.

  ‘Did you hear? They’ve captured Zastra, Thorlberd’s niece. Here, inside the castle. They say she tried to kill him.’

  Joril flung herself on her bed and buried her head in her pillow.

  ‘What’s wrong? I thought you’d be interested. It’s not every day you see a rebel.’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Joril wailed. The sick feeling in her stomach refused to go away. ‘What was Auntie Bodel thinking, bringing her here?’

  Myka’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What does your aunt have to do with this?’

  Joril started to tell him what had happened. In a flash, Myka clamped his hand over her mouth, ignoring her squeaks of protest.

  ‘Hush. Someone might be listening.’ He waited for her to nod her understanding, before releasing her. He went to the door to check no one was outside before closing it and returning to the bed.

  ‘Tell me everything.’ He spoke in a voice so low Joril could barely hear. She recounted her morning’s adventure in a whisper.

  ‘Why did she want me to go with her? Maybe she wanted to take me somewhere quiet to kill me. Remember what Lord Rastran told us about Murthen Island?’

  Myka frowned. ‘If Zastra had wanted to kill you, she could have easily done it. Instead, she offered to rescue you.’

  ‘I keep telling everyone, I don’t need rescuing!’

  ‘I think maybe you do.’ Myka paced up and down the room. ‘I think maybe we all do.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Joril protested. Myka stopped pacing and stared at her oddly.

  ‘Why you? What’s so special about you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Use your brain, Joril. You’ve seen what sort of person Rastran is. Maybe what Zastra told you about Murthen Island is true. After all, Rastran forced cintara on me, so we know he’s capable of such things. I don’t think your aunt would be friends with a murderer. And I knew there was something wrong about Rastran’s account of Murthen Island. We have to find out what’s really going on.’

  Joril leapt up.

  ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said. Let’s find Bodel. She has some explaining to do.’

  Zastra fingered the chains that secured the manacles round her wrists to a square plate on the floor of her cell. She could find no flaws, although she tested every link. The iron cuffs could not be prised open without a key. She searched her prison for a scrap of metal, anything that might be small enough to lever them open, but there was nothing. The cell was unfurnished, save for a metal chamber pot in the corner. A shaft of daylight filtered in through a small grate near the ceiling. It was too small to climb through, even supposing she could reach it and cut through the bars. She turned her attention to the metal plate. A thick screw secured each corner to the stone flagging. She gathered the chains in her hands and heaved, but the plate didn’t budge. She doubted even Ithgol would be strong enough to break free. At the thought of her Kyrg companion, her spirits dropped. How stupid she had been to think she could rescue Kastara on her own. Polina would have done a better job. The mindweaver could have us
ed her powers to stop Joril raising the alarm, and wouldn’t have been plagued by Zastra’s strange affliction every time she entered a dark passageway. On top of that, Kastara hadn’t even wanted to be rescued. Worst of all, she’d let herself be captured. Trying to quell her rising despair, Zastra examined the rest of her small cell. Damp glistened on the stone walls and there was a pervasive stench of stale sweat and urine. And something else, something with the tang of iron. Blood. A second set of manacles were attached to another plate in the far corner, empty at present, but no doubt added to increase capacity. Zastra had heard enough cries and curses as she had been dragged through the dungeons to have some idea of how full they were.

  Heavy footsteps approached the iron-studded door of her cell. A key turned in the lock and three people entered. Thorlberd’s solid build contrasted with the lanky frame of Strinverl. Between them, a whole head shorter than either, was Brutila. Zastra did not stand. She pulled her knees into her chest as her visitors spread out to surround her. She closed her eyes and set her mental wall, brick by brick, testing it as she had practised with Polina and Dobery. If there was even the tiniest chink, they would see who Joril really was, the location of Uden’s Teeth, everything. She realised, too late, that Polina had been right. It wasn’t just her own life she had staked on this venture.

  Thorlberd’s features were set in an unreadable calm.

  ‘Well, Zastra. You have caused me a deal of trouble and now you conveniently drop into my lap. I wish to know why.’

  Zastra gathered her strength. Focus on the wall. Layers of stone.

  ‘I don’t believe you would give away your freedom just to try and kill me. Even if you had succeeded, you could never have escaped. What was your real aim in coming to Golmer Castle?’

  No thoughts. No memories. Stone.

  Brutila cracked her knuckles.

  ‘Let me alone with her, my lord. I’ll have her begging to talk before lunch is served.’