Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you wounded?’

  ‘Not me.’

  The doorway went dark as Hylaz entered, carrying Justyn. The fletched end of a bolt stuck out of Justyn’s back, just below his ribs and his shirt was soaked in blood. The healer ripped open the shirt and sucked in her breath. The bolt had gone right through Justyn’s midriff. Zenarbia followed the others in and sank to the floor with a sob.

  ‘My target was Strinverl,’ Zenarbia sobbed. ‘I tried to block him but he was too strong. I blacked out.’

  ‘It is fortunate I am true-blooded,’ Hylaz said.’ And that Polina came for us.’

  Justyn’s blood spread across the floor of the kabana. The healer snapped the head off the bolt and Justyn’s face went grey. Zastra knelt beside him.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said. ‘Don’t you dare die on us.’

  ‘Once we had taken out our target, I sent a probe out to the others,’ Polina said quietly. ‘I sensed Zenarbia was in trouble. Strinverl is very powerful. It took all my powers to fend him off. I had nothing spare to disable their soldiers.’

  ‘Justyn was hurt protecting our retreat,’ Hylaz concluded. ‘He insisted on bringing up the rear.’

  The healer extracted the bolt and Justyn slumped to the floor, unconscious. The healer pressed her hand to the wound to try and stem the flow of blood, but it continued to spread between her fingers.

  ‘What can we do?’ Zastra asked. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Rafadal.

  ‘As soon as the rains stop, we will attack,’ he said. ‘They will pay the price for what they have done.’

  Rafadal had gathered the vulyx clan along the border. Many gemlyx had returned, eager for vengeance. Zastra was content to let Rafadal take the lead – the Makhana Forest was his land, the gemlyx his people. They planned to attack in strength, trusting their sheer numbers would overwhelm any remaining black ravens. Even someone as strong as Strinverl couldn’t control a thousand determined ko-yamacha. Zastra insisted that her mindweavers be positioned along the line to protect as many as they could. Rafadal accepted gratefully. Ithgol, Hylaz and Lorzan asked to join the attack.

  ‘For Justyn,’ said Hylaz.

  The rains stopped and as soon as the yamacha leaves had absorbed the acidic rain, yellow-daubed ko-yamacha began to swarm through the forest. They brought their birds with them. Huge vulyx swooped above the steaming canopy, diving down to pluck unwary invaders from their perches. The healer was too busy with Justyn to protest as Zastra mounted Kiri once more, on the lookout for migaradons. The green-feathered gemlyx flew beside their masters and mistresses, pecking and scratching at the enemy, sending the Golmeirans scattering like ants disturbed from their nest. In their panic, they dropped their weapons to grab at the lastic vines. Many overshot the landing mats and fell into the swamp, leaving their comrades stranded as all the eastward facing vines were left hanging loose between the trees. Rafadal’s people showed no mercy. It was terrible to witness such a friendly, hospitable people turned to such rage, slaughtering their enemy like tree rats and harrying them all the way to the eastern edge of the forest, where the Falls of Candema cascaded down into a swirling river. This was the border between Aliterra and Golmeira, the spray from the vast waterfalls forming a dense cloud. Zastra and Kiri sailed through the mist until they were above the vast lake that fed the falls. A flotilla of small canoes was already disappearing towards Golmeira, heedless of the retreating troops left stranded at the bottom of the waterfalls. Above the canoes flew a single migaradon, ridden by a stick-like figure in black robes. He wheeled around to face Zastra. Strinverl. She felt him pluck at her mental barrier, but at this distance his probe was weak and she fended it off easily. However, there was nothing she could do to stop his projection. An image of the Western Spur, the secret channel and Uden’s Teeth. Zastra cried out in horror. Strinverl’s voice reverberated gloatingly inside her head.

  You have been betrayed. The image shifted to show a vast fleet accompanied by a squadron of more than a dozen migaradons. She felt Strinverl’s triumph roll over her.

  Enjoy your hollow little victory. The grand marl himself is leading the attack. By the time you return, all those you care about will be dead.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Kastara turned a full circle, tilting her face upwards to catch the warmth of the sun. There was nothing but sea and sky in all directions. They had even left the gulls behind. At last she felt as if she could breathe.

  ‘How far to the Spur?’ she asked, although for once she was in no hurry.

  ‘We’re making good progress,’ said Myka, ‘I reckon a couple more days.’

  The wind was southeasterly, but their little yacht was running well on a close reach.

  ‘Haul the mainsail line,’ barked Nerika. ‘It’s luffing.’

  Findar hurried to obey even though Kastara was nearest to the sail. Kastara felt Nerika’s eyes boring into her. Small wonder Kylen had wanted to get rid of the woman. Myka could have skippered them just as well and with much less fussing, but Kylen had insisted that they be chaperoned by someone with more experience. She had only let them go after Kastara had publicly reminded her of her promise, knowing how Sendorans bragged about keeping their word.

  ‘When are you going to practise?’ asked Myka, once Findar had trimmed the mainsail to Nerika’s satisfaction. ‘That was supposed to be the point of this trip, after all.’

  ‘You’re so wrong, Myka,’ Findar remarked with a chuckle. ‘The point was to get Kastara out of doing any work.’

  ‘You’re enjoying this every bit as much as me.’ Kastara knelt by the prow and trailed her fingers in the cool waters of the Serene Sea, which was, for once, living up to its name.

  ‘Don’t you feel guilty?’ Myka asked. ‘Everyone else digging those trenches, while you sunbathe?’

  ‘Only as guilty as you feel about Wricken.’

  ‘Wricken thinks I’ve done him a favour. He’s convinced Podara’s halfway to being in love with him and that another day of watching him dig will convince her of his merits.’

  ‘Surely even Podara has better taste,’ said Kastara, yawning.

  ‘Are you going to sit there all day?’

  ‘Can’t you just enjoy something for once, Myka?’

  ‘It’s too quiet,’ said Findar. ‘With no animals or birds about, I feel like something is missing. As if there’s been this background noise in my head that I never realised was there.’

  ‘Look out!’ Myka yelled. ‘A migaradon! Diving right for us.’

  ‘What? Where?’ Kastara’s shield burst out of her chest and broke over the boat. The force of it tipped the mast backwards and the yacht reared up like a striking snake.

  ‘Stop playing games!’ barked Nerika, gripping the tiller with both hands as the hull crashed back down into the water, sending spray flying. Kastara looked up. There was no migaradon.

  ‘You tricked me!’

  ‘Keep your shield up,’ Myka said.

  ‘Look!’ exclaimed Findar. ‘Kas, I can see it!’

  The water immediately around the yacht was as smooth as glass. Beyond it, the ruffled surface of the sea slapped against an invisible barrier.

  ‘The water can’t get in,’ Findar remarked.

  ‘Nor the wind,’ Myka added, as the mainsail and jib sagged lifelessly.

  ‘I told you to stop playing about,’ snapped Nerika. ‘We can’t go anywhere without wind.’

  ‘Can you make it smaller?’ suggested Findar. ‘So that it’s only around you, instead of the whole boat.’

  ‘How am I supposed to do that?’

  ‘Try breathing in and out, only with your mind. Dobery told Orika that, to help control her mindmoving.’

  ‘And we know how successful that was,’ Kastara said with a snort. However, knowing where the edge of her shield was helped her locate it inside herself. She sensed it as a sphere of wispy light and focussed on pulling it inwards. The area of calm water shrank and then disappeared. Her shield was ju
st inches from her skin now. She tried to reach out to touch it, but it moved outwards with her hand.

  ‘Touch me,’ she commanded. Myka prodded his finger towards her but was unable to reach her skin.

  ‘Weird!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘What’s it feel like?’

  ‘Soft and hard at the same time. Like an iron door upholstered in leather.’

  Without warning, he shoulder-charged her. She felt nothing as he bounced off her barrier. Myka staggered to retain his footing, causing the boat to rock violently.

  ‘I won’t tell you again,’ Nerika growled. ‘Do you want to swim all the way back to Uden’s Teeth?’

  ‘I was only seeing if I could budge her.’

  Kastara’s head started to pound from the effort of maintaining the barrier but she didn’t let it fall. At last she was beginning to understand her special power and she wasn’t about to give that up lightly. She began to feel dizzy. Findar narrowed his eyes.

  ‘It even blocks mindweaving,’ he said. ‘I can’t get past it. Or even sense you’re there.’

  ‘Her lips are turning blue!’ Myka remarked.

  ‘Drop the barrier, Kas!’ Findar cried. ‘Now!’

  She let the barrier collapse and sucked in a deep breath. The air tasted fresh and sweet.

  ‘You nearly suffocated yourself.’ Findar laughed nervously. ‘If wind can’t get through, then neither can air.’

  ‘That would have been embarrassing,’ said Myka.

  ‘I’m glad you both find the idea of my death funny,’ Kastara said, although she felt her cheeks flush. No wonder Zastra hadn’t wanted to take her to Aliterra. She was a liability.

  ‘I suppose I would miss you,’ said Myka. ‘You are always good for deflecting attention away from the rest of us.’

  ‘I’m touched.’ Kastara stuck out her tongue.

  ‘Myka, haul in the jib a fraction,’ Nerika instructed. ‘We’ve lost enough time with this foolishness.’

  For the rest of the afternoon she kept them hard at work, bailing out water and adjusting sail to make best speed. In the gaps between her terse instructions, Findar and Kastara practised image projection until Nerika made them stop.

  ‘By the stars, I’m fed up of seeing Mata’s son in my head. Does the lad not own a shirt?’

  Kastara and Findar both flushed. They had been targeting each other, but it seemed their projections were leaking out into the minds of anyone within range. Myka grew weary of such games and took himself to the rear of the yacht to fish. He seemed in no mood for talking and so Kastara practised with her shield. She formed it into a flat wall, so she could push away the seawater without risking suffocation. She tried making the barrier wider, and then kept it in place for ever longer intervals. Over the next few days her efforts kept her busy and she was surprised when the Spur appeared on the horizon. It rose steeply out of the water, covered in barnacles. There was no beach to land on. Instead a wooden stake had been wedged into a crevice to serve for mooring. Nerika guided them carefully in, reefing the mainsail and leaning hard on the tiller to reduce speed. Above the barnacle-encrusted rocks, the Spur steepened into a pockmarked cliff, its hollows thick with nesting cormorants. The vinegary scent of their droppings mingled with the salty tang of the sea.

  ‘There should be a boat here,’ Nerika said, puzzlement etched across her sharp features.

  ‘Perhaps the guards are fishing?’ Kastara suggested.

  ‘They should be guarding. That’s the whole point,’ Nerika snapped. ‘Everyone grab some supplies.’

  ‘You can’t expect us to lug all these heavy boxes?’ Kastara protested.

  ‘Stop whining. You volunteered for this.’

  ‘Where is the outpost exactly?’

  Nerika jerked her head towards the top of the spur. Kastara groaned.

  ‘All that way? I’d have been better off shovelling sand.’

  ‘Where else did you think a look out would be?’ Nerika returned. ‘But I suppose hard work is beneath a daughter of a grand marl.’

  ‘I wish someone would treat me like a grand marl’s daughter for once,’ Kastara muttered, ‘instead of a skivvy.’

  She wrapped her arms around a barrel, levered it up with her knee and staggered after the others. The barnacles cut into the soles of her boots and she was glad to leave them behind. The ground rose steeply and her arms began to tremble with effort. She dropped the barrel and sat on it while she caught her breath. Findar waited for her as Nerika and Myka continued upwards.

  ‘Something’s wrong,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know what, but the birds seem frightened.’

  ‘Aren’t birds always scared?’

  ‘I suppose so, but these seem agitated by something.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re just surprised to see us.’

  ‘Maybe. It’s probably nothing. Come on. The sooner we get these supplies up, the sooner we can go home.’

  Kastara hefted her barrel onto her shoulder. Findar was right. Now that she had seen how barren and drab the Spur was, she couldn’t wait to get back to yacht. At the top of the incline they found Myka and Nerika lying on the ground, peering over at the brow. Myka turned his head and put his finger on his lips. To their left, the Spur rose further towards a jagged summit. To their right, the land dropped away into a narrow channel of sapphire water. Ahead, the Sea of Golmeira was shrouded in mist. A swirl of wind dispersed the fog, revealing the dark hull of a large warship. Another followed close behind. On the deck of the first ship, something huge and dark lay in chains. The mist lifted some more and Kastara gasped. Dozens and dozens of warships were holding station on the other side of the Spur and the first was just about to enter the channel.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Kylen flopped onto her bunk, too weary even to wash. Zadorax lay curled up beneath a blanket, gently snoring. She barely saw him these days. He was helping with the fortress, and disappeared each dawn, returning late at night to sink wearily into bed.

  She reviewed their progress to date. The catapults had been constructed and four of them placed on the northern headland. However, the Far Islanders were still refusing to release their fishing boats for the pontoon, meaning the south headland remained undefended. She would have to approach Yelina again. The fortress had topped out and the walls needed only buttressing. Another few days should do it. She had to hand it to the young mindweavers, they had made a good job of the trenches. She had no idea how Kastara had persuaded them to help. The girl was sharp, no doubt about it. She had certainly trapped Kylen in a net, reminding her so publicly of her promise. Still, the journey to the Spur was short and Nerika would look after them. Getting rid of the shrewish woman for a few days had been an unexpected bonus. There was a soft tap-tap at the door, so hesitant that it seemed to apologise for the intrusion. She knew it was Pitwyn before she even opened the door. Did the man ever sleep?

  ‘My lady – you will forgive the lateness – only you did say you wished to hear the latest progress on – now let me see – jula oil, firerings, migaradon-scale weapons. And the stones from the northern cliffs. They are smaller than desirable – the rock is cracked and – in short, I’m afraid most are no bigger than my head.’

  ‘Better than nothing. But such small stones are unlikely to smash through a hull. We should increase the supply of straw bales and oil at the north headland. A burned ship is destroyed just as well as one with rocks. Which reminds me, did Mata get the sand she requested?’

  ‘Indeed – Captain Mata is most efficient – her crew are extremely well drilled, one might almost say that they are like proper – and sand is one thing we have plenty of.’

  ‘Good. Then we need to start practising. Most of our people have never seen a catapult, let alone fired one.’

  ‘Um. If my lady will permit…’

  He paused, and Kylen suppressed a sigh. Anything that stopped Pitwyn’s rapid flow usually meant trouble.

  ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Many of the workers are demanding �
�� that is to say, requesting – the guber root and cabbage harvest is ripe and needs to be picked.’ Kylen sighed.

  ‘How long will it take?’ she asked.

  ‘Perhaps five days, my lady, if you were willing to release all the workers – it would be a shame for the harvest to go to waste – but it is your decision, I only tell you what I have heard.’

  Kylen promised to give the matter some thought. Of course, they didn’t want to lose the harvest, but now that they had a semblance of a defensive position she was painfully aware that no one except her Sendoran soldiers and the crews of the warships knew anything about fighting. And a defensive position, in her experience, was only as good as the people defending it.

  The next morning, she told Pitwyn that she would allow the harvest to be picked only once everyone of fighting age had undertaken a few days of basic training, and the crews of the catapults had proved they could hit a target. Not before.

  ‘If nothing else, their eagerness to make the harvest will ensure they learn quickly,’ she said. She oversaw the catapult training herself. Mata was waiting for her at the north headland with a handful of seasoned sailors. They demonstrated how to load, aim and fire one of the catapults. Three rafts made from empty barrels had been strung across the bay. The first payload of head-sized rocks clattered into the nearest raft.

  ‘Nice shooting,’ said Kylen. ‘Now let the others try.’

  Mata released the catapult to a volunteer crew of farmers, carpenters and a pair of Far Island fisherwomen. Kylen watched in dismay as they tried to load the bucket before they had properly set the catapult. One of the fisherwomen almost broke her arm as the unsecured bucket sprang back to the upright. Next, they piled too many rocks into the bucket and Mata had to step in and explain that they risked breaking the arm. After much arguing and instruction, loading was completed.

  ‘By the time that took, half of Thorlberd’s fleet could have sailed into port,’ Kylen remarked. Nobody wanted to take responsibility for aiming the catapult until a heavily pregnant young woman stepped forward. She had been standing to one side as her companions loaded the catapult. Kylen recognised her. Hanra, the Borders woman who had married Zastra’s old friend, Dalbric, who was also part of the catapult crew. Mata explained the principles. Hanra shrugged, licked her finger and held it in the air. She ordered her husband to winch the base around by a few degrees and crank the bar up a notch. Satisfied, she stepped back, not deigning to touch the catapult herself. Dalbric took a sledgehammer to release the catch and the catapult crashed against the bar, propelling the stones out to sea. They landed short of the nearest raft.