Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘No. Not unless it becomes necessary. Remember, she is family.’

  Zastra clenched her jaw. How dare you speak of family, when you killed your own brother? But emotions wouldn’t help her protect Kastara and she forced down her rising anger.

  Thorlberd continued. ‘You are only here, Brutila, because you claim you can penetrate my niece’s mind. Very well. Show me.’

  Brutila’s probe was sharp and sly, but it glanced off Zastra’s defences as harmlessly as an arrow sliding off granite, just as it had at Finistron. Brutila was nowhere near as powerful as she had been when Zastra was younger, and Zastra’s resistance was much stronger. More attacks followed, but Zastra parried them easily. Brutila snarled in frustration.

  ‘She’s blocking me.’

  Thorlberd coughed.

  ‘I heard Master Dobery taught you some tricks, Zastra. Tell me, is the old fool still alive?’

  Zastra stared past him. Halfway up the wall of the chamber, a misshapen stone with slanting sides resembled the hull of a ship. She fixed on it. Stone.

  She felt a different kind of pressure, as though her skull was being squeezed. She couldn’t help but gasp. That must be Thorlberd. Dobery always said he was one of the strongest mindweavers alive. The crushing weight intensified. Tell me where they are hiding, these rebels you call your friends. Thorlberd’s unspoken command reverberated inside her mind like thunder but she held him off. The pressure abated, leaving her head throbbing. Thorlberd rubbed his beard.

  ‘Stubborn as ever, I see. But this is a foolish gesture. You are no mindweaver. We will rip your mind to shreds. I give you one last chance. Tell me why you are here, and who helped you get inside.’

  Zastra continued to focus on the oddly shaped stone. Thorlberd let out a low growl and spread out his arms.

  ‘Join with me.’

  Brutila and Strinverl shuffled forward to form a ring around Zastra. They linked hands. An instant later, Zastra was attacked by the combined strength of three of the most powerful mindweavers in Golmeira. The pain was blinding. She was being assaulted from everywhere, mental blows pounding from all sides. Hold the wall. Zastra clenched her teeth to stop herself crying out. The pressure increased until the pain became unbearable. Everything faded away.

  ‘… she’s waking…’

  As soon as Zastra heard the whispered words, she snapped her mental wall in place. Just in time. Probe after probe followed, as if someone was drilling a hole in her skull.

  Who helped you?

  Where is Findar?

  Why are you here? What did you come for?

  Let us in. Let us in and the agony will end.

  Once more, everything faded to black.

  Awareness. The scent of a jula lamp. She was shivering. Someone had doused her in ice cold water. To wake me. Her wall snapped up and the assault began again. They were trying to catch her out. She lost track of time as the cycles of consciousness, pain and darkness was repeated, over and over again. For what seemed like the hundredth time, she woke, her clothes sodden. She kept her eyelids closed, desperate for even a few moments of respite.

  ‘Is it worth it? Let’s kill her and be done with it.’ Strinverl.

  ‘Let me do it my way,’ Brutila pleaded.

  ‘Ask me that again, Brutila, and you’ll spend the rest of your days chained up beside my niece. She is not to be harmed unless I command it. Let her sit for a while and think on her predicament. She will soon see that she has no choice but to co-operate.’

  The sound of retreating footsteps was followed by the door clanging heavily into place.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Positioned at the edge of Highcastle Forest, Kylen watched Horval rise and cast a silver gleam over the landscape through tendrils of insubstantial cloud. That morning, after they had watched Zastra go into the castle, they had debated what to do. Ithgol had proposed storming the castle. Kylen, although sorely tempted by the Kyrg’s suggestion, had eventually decided that they should wait until the evening, when the cleaners were due to return to the village. With any luck, Zastra would be among them and they could find out what was going on. Who knew, she may even have Kastara with her. Once more she set Zastra’s telescope towards the archway in the outer ramparts. The last of the cleaners departed and the portcullis was lowered for the night.

  ‘Where in the stars is she? Zastra wasn’t with them, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Something must have gone wrong,’ Polina said.

  ‘Of course, it would have helped if Zastra had told us what she intended,’ Kylen remarked grimly. She felt Polina’s hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Maybe she always meant to wait until dark. But I don’t like it. Not with Brutila in the castle. And we can’t afford to wait much longer. We’re already cutting it fine to get to Mata’s rendezvous in time.’

  ‘I will not leave Zastra,’ Ithgol insisted. ‘I will find a pickaxe and return to the passage. A mere stone door will not stop me.’

  ‘Hold on, Ithgol.’ Kylen examined the ragged line of cleaners as they trudged back towards Highcastle village. ‘I think I see the woman who was with Zastra this morning. Bodel. Perhaps she can tell us what’s going on.’

  They trailed the cleaners back to the village. While Bodel was with the others, they daren’t approach her, but once the group reached the main street it split up as the cleaners went their different ways. Bodel and a smaller woman entered a small house opposite the bakery. Moments later, lamplight leaked beneath the door and around the edges of a shuttered window. Kylen drew out her sword.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Polina asked.

  ‘I’m going to ask her what she knows.’

  ‘Why is violence always your first thought? There’s a better way.’

  ‘Mindweaving, I suppose? That’s always your first choice. I’m not sure it’s any better.’

  ‘It has the advantage of being quieter at least. And it doesn’t involve bloodshed.’

  Polina pulled up her hood, looked up and down the street and then hurried across to the house. She knocked quietly. The door opened and the dark-haired woman appeared. There was a short discussion, after which the woman followed Polina back to their hiding place. Ithgol uttered a guttural rattle.

  ‘Behave, Ithgol,’ Polina said with a sigh. ‘This is Bodel. I tried to read her mind but she’s resistant. Luckily, she didn’t hold it against me.’

  ‘Zastra’s in trouble,’ Bodel said in a low tone. She proceeded to tell them about Zastra’s capture.

  ‘That’s not good,’ Polina said. ‘Zastra is sure to be well guarded. Assuming she’s still alive.’

  ‘We must try something,’ Kylen insisted. ‘I won’t sit around while Zastra is tortured to death. Bodel, is there any way you can you get us into the castle?’

  ‘I have three tickets for the ascension celebrations. I could get two of you in with me. But not the Kyrg. He will stand out if he’s not in uniform.’

  Ithgol growled. He did not appear convinced by Bodel’s reasoning.

  ‘Bodel is right,’ Kylen said. ‘But you can still help. How are you at stealing horses?’

  ‘I am no thief. But if it will help Zastra, I will do it.’

  ‘Good. Then we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning.’ It seemed a long time to be doing nothing, but Kylen could not come up with a better option. She tried not to think what might be happening inside the castle. Hang on, Zastra. Try to stay alive for one more day.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  When Joril awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. She had overslept. Yesterday, she and Myka had spent all day and most of the evening searching for Bodel, but with no luck. She jumped out of bed, ran a wet flannel over her face and neck and wriggled into a pair of leggings and her favourite goatswool tunic. Grabbing her sash, she headed down to the kitchens. They were packing up, but the young undercook who had previously given her and Myka extra portions made her up a plate of leftovers. Myka was sitting with Berynder and the rest of her classmates.

&
nbsp; ‘Here she is!’ Berynder greeted her with applause. ‘The hero of the day.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Joril was suspicious of such warmth.

  ‘I heard it was your warning that helped them capture that horrid rebel. To think she dared to come right inside the castle. I could hardly sleep last night. What if there are more of them? We could all be murdered in our beds!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Myka, yawning. ‘No one would want to kill you, Berynder. You aren’t worth the trouble.’

  ‘Just because you’re useless, Myka, doesn’t mean the rest of us will be. They say she must have had help. That we’ve a traitor in our midst.’

  Joril felt Myka’s eyes on her. They are talking about Bodel. Myka was right. It didn’t make sense. If Zastra had come to kill Thorlberd, why had she visited Joril first? She had said something about a secret. What could it be? And why was it so dangerous?

  The others headed off, eager to see the preparations for the ascension celebration. Joril was left alone with Myka.

  ‘Are you all right, Joril?’

  ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’

  ‘I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m asking because of your known association with dangerous rebels.’

  ‘Don’t joke. It’s not funny. I don’t know what to think any more. I can’t believe Auntie Bodel would want to hurt me, but why did she bring Zastra to my room?’

  ‘Why don’t we find out? We couldn’t find Bodel, but we do know where to find Zastra.’

  Joril stared at him. It was not like Myka to be so bold.

  ‘You can’t be serious. It’s too dangerous for us to get involved.’

  ‘We’re already involved. Or at least you are. Bodel and Zastra came here to get you. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps the rebels are short of opinionated ten-year olds.’

  ‘Hey!’ Joril protested, but she couldn’t help return his grin. Myka soon became serious again.

  ‘I overheard Florian and Fester talking about interrogations they’ve been allowed to watch as part of their training. It wasn’t pleasant. The prisoners always talk in the end, even those that can resist mindweaving. What if Zastra says something about you? They’ll come for you next.’

  ‘But I don’t even know why!’ Joril protested. ‘It’s so unfair.’

  ‘You poor thing. Zastra is probably being tortured right now and all you care about is not being in on some secret.’

  ‘Fine. What’s your plan?’

  ‘The only idea I have is to get to Zastra and ask her what’s going on. I’ll know if she’s telling the truth. Although I don’t know how we are going to do it. They are hardly going to allow a couple of unprovens in to see her.’

  ‘Don’t ask, don’t get.’ Joril pushed her plate aside. At the dungeon gates, a portly guard barred their way. Joril recognised the woman who had been stationed at the outer ramparts on the day she had sought entrance to the castle. When Joril made her request, the woman smirked.

  ‘No visitors except by Grand Marl Thorlberd’s command.’

  ‘What if I had some iced buns in my pockets?’

  ‘But you don’t—’ Myka began. Joril dug her elbow into his ribs. The woman’s stomach growled and she licked her lips.

  ‘I suppose a quick look won’t hurt. I’d have to go with you mind.’

  ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Joril spun round and headed swiftly back to the kitchens. Myka followed as she ploughed through the swinging doors that stood next to the serving hatches and into a large, vaulted hall, lined by huge ovens. Six tables were spaced out across the chamber. The undercook who had given her the leftovers earlier looked up and gave Joril a shy smile. When she explained that she wanted to make some iced buns, he provided her with a bowl, a rolling pin and a small space at his table.

  ‘Aw, look. The baker’s daughter is back!’ Myka grinned.

  ‘I just hope I can remember how Dalka makes them,’ Joril said, puffing out her cheeks.

  Chapter Forty

  Zastra forced her eyes open. The angle of the light slanting in through the small grate above her told her it was past noon. Mechanically, she set her defensive wall, before realising with relief that she was alone. Throughout the night Thorlberd had sent mindweavers into her cell, one after another. Sometimes they had linked together, but that had only served to render Zastra unconscious. The mind protects itself, Dobery had said. She gave silent thanks to her old friend. Without his training, everything would have already been lost. She sat up. Her mouth was as dry as sand. She had been given no food and nothing to drink since she had been captured. Hunger she could cope with. Food had often been scarce during her years in the mountains with Etta and Dalbric. But thirst was different. She fingered her shirt, sodden from repeated dousing. She lifted the hem above her mouth, bunched the fabric and squeezed. The thin dribble of water tasted as sweet as a mountain spring. She sucked out every drop of moisture. It was not nearly enough to satisfy her, but she felt sufficiently revived to get to her feet and flex her stiff muscles.

  The door opened and her uncle entered. He was carrying a tray with a steaming pot and two mugs. Zastra’s nose twitched at the scent of hot chala.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly. ‘How was your night? Myself, I slept very well indeed.’

  He poured the chala. The pungent aroma filled the chamber.

  ‘You must be thirsty, my dear.’

  He offered her a steaming cup. She shook her head. She was not sure what game he was playing, but she refused to participate. He continued to hold it in front of her.

  ‘Come now, it’s safe to drink. If I wanted you dead, I’d have you executed in the courtyard for all to see. I wouldn’t waste such a good opportunity to demonstrate the futility of opposition.’

  ‘You haven’t won yet,’ Zastra said. Her uncle returned the mug to the tray and placed it on the floor.

  ‘What do you think makes a good ruler, Zastra?’

  ‘Compassion. Fairness. Loyalty. None of which you display,’ she fired back.

  ‘You mean like your father, I suppose. A grand marl who was about to accede to Sendor’s demands. A man who would steal land from the marls and give it to people who have no idea what to do with it.’

  ‘Better than torturing children and making slaves of a proud people. And how do you justify what you have done to the Far Isles? They are no threat to us, yet you have stolen their ships and their lands.’

  ‘I recall a young girl who longed to be a Warrior of Golmeira. Fostran was your favourite, I believe. He conquered the Kyrgs, didn’t he? There are no legends about rulers who gave in to our enemies. Join me, Zastra. As a child you were bold and brave. I admired that. I see you still have those qualities. Bend the knee and persuade your brother to do the same and you can swap this prison cell for a marl’s castle.’

  ‘Why are you so eager for Findar to join you? Or me, for that matter?’

  ‘I want to build something lasting. We both know that Rastran can never be allowed to rule and I fear my other son doesn’t have what it takes. If Findar has any of your spirit, I would make him my heir.’

  He took up the mug of chala and offered it to her once more. She took it. The sweet smell filled her nostrils and she felt a pang of regret as she tilted her wrist, spilling the steaming liquid onto the dirty floor. It disappeared into the cracks between the stone flagging.

  ‘You murdered my parents. I will never join you.’

  For the first time, she detected some emotion in his broad features.

  ‘I took no pleasure in doing what needed to be done. Under my leadership, Golmeira has become stronger. We fear no one. And the wealth of our conquered lands means life will be better for all Golmeirans. Taxes will come down, we can clean out the slums and build anew. I do what I do for the good of our people. What is it you hope to achieve by challenging me?’

  ‘I want you to pay for what you did.’

  ‘So, you want to destroy me? Tear down what I have built. But then what?
What do you stand for?’

  Zastra was stuck for an answer. She knew she hated him, but what did she really want in his place? What sort of country did she want Golmeira to be? Thorlberd seemed to sense her confusion.

  ‘If you don’t know the endgame, you shouldn’t be playing. I wish you could see how eager our people are to celebrate the day I killed Leodra. I did it in this very cell.’

  An image of her father was thrust into Zastra’s consciousness, as vivid as if he were right next to her. He was kneeling, bound hand and foot, his face wrenched in dismay. A sword was raised above his head.

  ‘No!’ she cried instinctively, before she realised that her father wasn’t really there. He’s distracting you. The sword swung down in a deadly arc. Tears pricked her eyes and Thorlberd probed her mind eagerly, seeking for fractures opened up by such strong emotions. Zastra balled up her feelings of pain and horror at witnessing her father’s murder and let them loose. She felt a moment of triumph as Thorlberd broke off his attack with a sharp intake of breath. Yes, uncle. Feel some of the pain you have inflicted. A muscle in Thorlberd’s left cheek twitched as he tried to compose himself.

  ‘Of course, it wasn’t just Leodra who had to die. Dear, sweet Anara. What a misfortune for her that she married my brother. She pleaded for her life so eloquently.’

  Zastra’s heart clenched as if Thorlberd had reached his hand inside her chest and squeezed it. If she saw her mother’s murder, she would be lost. Even the idea of it made her defences tremble. Thorlberd probed eagerly as if he sensed her weakness, but he did not summon up Anara’s last moments. Instead, Zastra had a vision of her mother leaning over two babies in a crib. Findar and Kastara. What was Thorlberd trying to do? Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to work. Seeing her brother and sister only made her more determined to resist. The image vanished abruptly as if her uncle realised his mistake. He turned and made for the door. She prayed he would never know how close he had come.

  At the entrance to the cell, he paused with his back to her.

  ‘Listen carefully, Zastra. Rastran has been begging me to let him interrogate you. He has some extremely unpleasant methods. Brutila too, is confident she can make you talk. My patience is running out and I may yet let them have their way. Think on that. I will give you one last chance to reconsider. If you continue in this foolish obstinacy, I’ll turn you over to Brutila and my son.’