Tales of Golmeira- The Complete Box Set

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘I thought we was goners.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Glad you’re here.’ Kastara felt a flush of pride. They held off the first line of ships, and the next, but the convoys kept coming. The bay was soon filled with billowing sails. Kastara learned to gauge which rocks would fall short, or go long, sending out her defensive wall only when it was really needed. Even so, the mental strain was starting to tire her. The other ships in the line were not so fortunate. Kastara’s wall wasn’t wide enough to protect them. The Obala’s rear mast had broken off at the base and a jagged hole in the deck revealed its rock-filled hold. Nerika darted around the gap, gesturing furiously. The Daydream and the Mystique also showed signs of damage. Five enemy ships advanced to within grappling range, their decks swarming with soldiers. Black-robed figures gathered in clumps, too many for Kastara to count. Her head pounded as they tried to tear down her defensive walls. Beside her, Torvin fired. One of the black-robed figures slumped to the deck and there was a slight easing of the pressure on her mind.

  She glanced down, looking for Findar. He had linked hands with Myka and Wricken to form a circle. Mata led her crew to the side of the ship to repel the boarders. None seemed affected by the black ravens, which meant Fin and the others were doing their job. A warship closed to within a few paces. Mata and her crew suddenly ducked down.

  ‘Fire!’ cried Kendra. The catapults had been set with almost no elevation and a volley of mid-sized rocks scythed through the attackers, including the black ravens. The weight on Kastara’s mind lifted momentarily, and the ravaged ship drifted past them without engaging. Beside her, Torvin was shooting rapidly, reloading and shooting again. Another ship emerged from the driving rain and hurled a wall of rock towards their deck. Kastara’s shield burst out of her and the deadly shower was diverted harmlessly into the sea. She shuddered at the thought of what the barrage might have done had she not blocked it. Kyrgs leapt onto the bulwarks of the approaching enemy ship in their eagerness to board. Another volley from the Wind of Golmeira’s catapults swept them aside but more filled the gap. At the end of their line, the Mystique was sandwiched between two ships, her crew fighting desperately on both fronts.

  ‘I knew it,’ Torvin groaned. Four dark shapes rose from the decks of ships further out to sea. Kastara’s heart sunk. Torvin had been right. Thorlberd had waited until they were barely holding on before releasing his most terrible weapon. One migaradon dived towards the northern battery. It ripped apart two of the catapults before it was downed by a flurry of bolts and spears. Another made for the southern pontoon. Two more headed straight for the Wind of Golmeira.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Zastra drove the lugger headlong into the driving rain, its timbers groaning under the press of sail. Ignoring Kayled’s protestations, she had set topsails above the mainsails and their leeward rail dipped in and out of the foam as they flew along, the deck slanted like a pitched roof. The iron-taut rigging sang, a high insistent note that told her she was within an inch of carrying away a spar, or even one of the masts. Yet she pressed on, their bow flinging water aside. Waylin stood near the prow, clinging to a stanchion as the rain sluiced down. Every so often he leaned over to vomit into the sea. Polina too, was pale, although doubtless due to worry as much as seasickness. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

  ‘There!’ Waylin cried. Uden’s Teeth loomed out of the grey fog. Resting the tiller between her knees to keep their course, Zastra took out her telescope and slid it open. Krysfera leapt into view. Sails swarmed around the island like flies around a carcass. A flash of sheet lightning illuminated the sky, throwing the shadows of four migaradons into relief. Somehow the rebels were still making a fight of it, although the hopelessness of their position was clear. Only the Wind of Golmeira was intact. There was no sign of the Daydream and the Obala sat low in the water, her masts gone. A single catapult flung rocks defiantly from the northern headland. There was no time for reflection, only action. Zastra leaned hard on the tiller and laid a course for Madwoman’s Rest.

  ‘You can’t be serious?’ Polina cried. ‘You can’t send poor Orika into battle.’

  But Zastra saw no other choice. If she did nothing, Thorlberd would win and Orika would be killed with the rest of them. Or worse, taken back to Golmer Castle to be experimented on. The tide was in and Zastra ran the lugger right up to the beach. Orika ran towards them, her face a mask of fear. The lugger’s timbers began to shudder and groan.

  ‘This is madness,’ Polina protested. ‘The poor girl is already losing control.’

  ‘Orika, merge with me,’ Zastra cried. It was the only way she knew to calm Orika down. She began to dismantle her mental barriers. They were so much part of her now that it took some effort to open herself up. Polina grabbed her shoulder.

  ‘Zastra, no. It’s too dangerous! You could be infected with Orika’s madness. And opening your barriers means you’ll be defenceless against the black ravens.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to protect us.’

  Zastra knew the risks. She had let Orika into her mind once before to stop the terrified girl wrecking the ship they were on. It had been distressing for both of them, but it had worked. She shuddered as Orika entered her mind. The girl was drawn towards her saddest moments and her deepest pain. In an instant, she experienced Orika’s pity at the death of her parents, felt again the pain of Rastran’s torture. When Orika saw the image at the forefront of Zastra’s mind – the fleet attacking Krysfera – the girl’s terror almost overwhelmed them both. Zastra strove for calmness and authority. We need your strength, Orika. I will be with you the whole time, I promise. Come with me.

  Orika strode out into the surf and Zastra hauled her aboard, pushing them off with a long pole before spinning the lugger round on its heel. Foam curved in their wake as she set course for the heart of the battle.

  Kylen’s arms felt like rods of burning steel, so heavy she could barely lift them. Her supply of bolts was long gone and their ballistae, too, had run out of ammunition. The churned-up beach was littered with the bodies of the dead, the trenches overflowing. They had killed eight migaradons. One spear-riddled carcass lay so close to the wall that she could hear the rain bouncing off its hard scales. As she glanced out to sea, yet another migaradon rose from a ship that had only just joined the battle. Kept until last, knowing that the defenders would be exhausted.

  ‘Does anyone have any scale-tip bolts?’ she cried, but the defenders were too busy fighting off the invading soldiers to answer. The top of a siege ladder clattered against the top of the wall. She shoved it away before anyone could begin to climb, but a Kyrg climbed to the top of another ladder, right next to her, and slashed at Beregan’s chest. The small woman swayed back and plunged her spear into the Kyrg’s chest. He fell backwards, but another followed close behind. Kylen summoned the effort to swing her sword and sent the Kyrg to join the growing pile of bodies at the base of the wall. She sensed the despair and weariness of those around her.

  ‘Hold!’ she bellowed. ‘For all that we love, hold the wall!’

  The fresh migaradon dived towards her, trying to break a hole in the wall, like the others before it. Kylen looked around for something she could use. Her eye stopped on the dead migaradon just beyond the wall, spears poking out of its scaly hide. She took a running jump and launched herself over a wave of attackers and onto the dead beast, grabbing one of the embedded spears to stop herself sliding off. Once she had her footing, she yanked it out. It was scale-tipped.

  The living migaradon dived towards a defender who was aiming a crossbow. Kylen’s throat constricted as she recognised her brother. He released a shot and the migaradon squealed, blood spurting from a wound beneath its neck. The beast continued its dive, and Zax’s bow was now empty. He sprinted along the wall towards Kylen, the enraged migaradon in pursuit, ripping stones from the top of the wall as it flew. A defender got in its way and the migaradon reached out and flung him, screaming, from the wall. Kylen leapt onto a nearby siege ladder, levering off a cli
mbing Golmeiran soldier with her spear, and arrived on the parapet just as Zax reached her.

  ‘Duck!’ she cried. He obeyed, and Kylen thrust the spear into the belly of the charging migaradon. Warm blood spurted over her, blinding her for an instant. The beast screamed and reared up, dragging her up into the air. She clung grimly to the spear, the only thing that could provide the final death blow. Someone grabbed her feet. Zax. Beregan added her weight to his and together they tore the spear loose. The migaradon landed heavily on the wall, thrashing wildly, sending stones flying in all directions. Kylen ducked beneath a scything claw and thrust the bloodied spear into its third heart. It rolled off the wall, crushing attackers as it plunged to the ground. But in its death throes it had torn a deep hole in the wall. The rain began to ease, and the sky took on a coppery hue. The attackers swarmed towards the gap the migaradon had made. Kylen clutched Zax in despair. She had nothing left to give.

  From out to sea came the sound of rending wood, so terrible that even the attackers stopped to stare. A tiny boat with orange sails raced between Thorlberd’s warships. It was dwarfed by the huge vessels, yet they crumpled in its wake, their hulls staved in as if they were made of crackerbread. The ships began to turn and flee, their sails flapping in panic, but the little boat weaved through the enemy fleet and ship after ship was ripped to shreds. The attackers on the beach hesitated as they saw their means of escape destroyed. Kylen saw her chance.

  ‘Send the signal,’ she cried. She had kept back a few hundred men and women in case the wall was breached. They were untrained, but willing. Most importantly, they were fresh. Her brother carried her message to the tower and moments later a green flag was waved. It was time to commit everything they had.

  ‘Forward!’ she cried, somehow finding the strength to lead the rebels through the gap the migaradon had made. Others descended from the sides of the channel, flanking their attackers on three sides.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Kastara glanced along what remained of their defensive line. The Daydream and the Mystique had been pounded to kindling by enemy catapults and the deck of the Obala was heaving with enemy soldiers. Mata was at the head of a knot of sailors, attempting to fend off a horde of invaders, swords and scythals clashing in the rain. A second ship latched onto their quarterdeck. Torvin continued to fire rapidly into the enemy, but made little impression. There were just too many. Emerging from the dark clouds, a vast four-masted ship bore down on the melee, dwarfing the other warships. It was square-rigged with maroon sails and completely undamaged. Thorlberd’s standard flew atop each mast. Her uncle’s flagship. Disregarding Mata’s orders, Kastara scrambled down the mast. Myka and Findar were still standing by the mainmast while Wricken lay dead at their feet. They were fully focused on protecting the minds of Mata and what was left of her crew, not noticing the Kyrgs pouring onto the quarterdeck behind them. Kastara stepped between them and sent forth her shield, sweeping the Kyrgs clean over the quarterdeck rail. The power of her push forced the attacking ship away. The stern of the Wind of Golmeira swung round, wrenching them clear of the other enemy vessel. A few attackers were left stranded and Mata and the others dispatched them quickly. Mata strode to Kastara.

  ‘Was that you?’

  Kastara nodded.

  ‘Can you protect the whole ship?’

  ‘I think so, but I don’t know for how long.’ Kastara’s head pounded and she felt exhausted from the effort of repeatedly wielding her power. Her bursts of effort were getting shorter and shorter.

  ‘Zastra is here,’ cried Findar. Mata whirled round.

  ‘What? How do you know?’

  ‘The gulls. They can see her. Look!’

  He pointed towards a lugger as it darted round the headland and into the bay. Either side of it, enemy ships crumpled like discarded sheets of paper.

  ‘Orika!’ Findar exclaimed. ‘She’s got Orika. They’re going straight for the flagship!’

  The flagship hastily launched a migaradon. Another had been harrying the northern battery, but in response to some signal it turned, and the two colossal beasts converged on the lugger. Fear flooded Kastara’s body. Orika’s power didn’t work on migaradons, and not even Zastra could handle two at once.

  ‘We have to help them!’ cried Findar.

  ‘All hands make sail.’ Mata strode to the helm. ‘Cut the anchor. Set course to ram the flagship.’

  Some of the crew were so dazed and battle weary they needed grabbing by the arm and directing to their posts. There was no sign of Kendra. Torvin slid down the ratlines to help. Within a few moments the anchor line was cut and they began to make way.

  ‘Kastara, deflect anything that gets in our way,’ Mata commanded.

  Kastara moved toward the foredeck, stepping over the bodies of the dead and wounded. The quarterdeck of a warship lay across their path so she sent out her shield and pushed. The vessel swung round, and they bumped sides as they went past. Enemy soldiers tried to leap across the gap, but Kastara repelled them. Zastra’s lugger was slowing, its foresail punctured in three places and the hull badly damaged. Every enemy ship in the bay was targeting it with their catapults, yet the little lugger continued gamely on through the plumes of water raised by the falling rocks. Kastara realised she was holding her breath.

  ‘I hope Orika realises we’re not the enemy,’ Myka said morosely. Kastara jumped. She hadn’t realised he was so close. Findar was beside him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Next to you seems like the safest place,’ Myka remarked.

  ‘What about the mindweavers?’ Only then did Kastara realise that there was no longer any pressure on her mind.

  ‘My guess is they’re focused on Zastra and Orika. They’ve finally realised their danger.’

  The lugger began to judder and shake as it neared the flagship. A horizontal crack appeared just above the waterline and a large section of deck snapped upwards.

  ‘It’s breaking apart!’ Kastara cried in horror.

  ‘Orika’s losing it,’ said Findar grimly. ‘They’ll never make it.’

  ‘We can’t hold them!’ Polina cried, in anguish. ‘Every black raven in range is attacking us.’

  A large boulder slammed into the sea just off their starboard quarter, sending water crashing over them. Kayled screamed and dived overboard but Zastra kept them on a direct course for the flagship. Polina and Waylin collapsed onto what remained of the deck. Without their protection, Zastra felt a dozen mindweavers tearing greedily at her and Orika’s joined consciousness. The pain was blinding. Orika screamed and Zastra felt a shockwave rip through her mind. The probes of the black ravens snapped away, but Orika’s uncontrolled burst of power shattered their own masts. Jagged cracks opened up across the deck. The lugger lurched alarmingly and slewed round. A migaradon dived towards them. Zastra tried to react, but Orika’s panic flapped like a trapped bird against her ribcage and she couldn’t move, watching helplessly as the migaradon reached down and ripped the lugger in half. Zastra retained barely enough presence of mind to grab Orika before the lugger disintegrated and they were plunged into the chilly water of the bay. The hull of the flagship loomed above them, planks popping outwards as Orika thrashed wildly.

  ‘I can’t swim!’

  ‘It’s all right, Orika. I’ve got you.’

  But Orika lost what remaining control she had. Weighed down by Orika’s fear, Zastra could do nothing as the waters closed over their heads.

  The prong of a grapnel dug into her armpit and Zastra was hauled upwards and flung onto the deck of the flagship like so much baggage. Beside her, Orika choked on seawater. Zastra’s lungs burned as she felt Orika’s every cough and splutter as if it were her own.

  ‘Kill the Southlander before she does any more damage.’

  Zastra recognised the voice. She was on the flagship, after all. She lifted her head. They were encircled by soldiers and black ravens. Towering above them was Thorlberd, his stare flat and angry. Next to him, a young man with
curly hair seemed familiar. Zastra remembered metal chains, tightening around her neck. She clawed at her throat but there was nothing there. It was just a memory. The man narrowed his eyes.

  ‘No!’ Zastra cried, diving desperately towards Orika, but she was too late. A spear plunged into Orika’s breast. With their minds still joined, Zastra felt the impact as if the spear had entered her own body. Intense pain spread across her chest and then a terrible emptiness. For a moment, Zastra thought she, too, was dead.

  ‘Bring my niece.’

  Two Kyrgs dragged Zastra towards her uncle. Seawater dripped from her hair onto her eyelids, but her hands were pinned to her sides and she could not wipe it away. Thorlberd drew his sword, its long blade highly polished and reflecting the strange golden glow of the sky.

  ‘It is time to finish this. You shall meet the same fate as your father.’

  Rage awoke something inside her.

  ‘And my mother. Don’t forget her.’ A strange look darkened Thorlberd’s face as he leaned forward and whispered in her ear so that only she could hear.

  ‘She has been my only weakness. I will not permit another.’

  He stepped back and raised the sword two-handed above her head.

  ‘Hold her down. It is time to cut the head from this rebellion.’

  Zastra was forced down onto her knees. She closed her eyes and waited for the blade to drop.

  The Wind of Golmeira ploughed into the flagship. Their bowsprit ran through the hull of their target and burst through the deck. The impact of the collision knocked everyone off their feet. A block and tackle crashed onto the deck, narrowly missing Mata.

  ‘Now!’ cried Findar. Kastara looked at him, confused.

  ‘Now what?’ she asked.

  Two blue eagles dived at Thorlberd, talons tearing at his face. He swung his arms blindly, still holding his sword, but the birds were inside his guard. The two Kyrgs holding Zastra dropped her and went to help the grand marl as blood poured down his cheeks. One of the eagles pecked at his eyes and he roared in agony.