Chapter Four
In a small inn on the western edge of the Border Mountains, a woman in a hooded cloak gestured impatiently towards the barkeep. He pretended not to see her and she was forced to shout to get his attention. Eventually, the man filled a mug with spiced wine but sent his wife rather than come himself. As the mug slammed down on her table, the woman lifted her face and forced the barkeep’s wife to look at her, knowing the horrors she would see. The jagged crescent of scar tissue that pulled her mouth upwards on one side in a lopsided grin, a smile that no one ever returned. Her father had inflicted it on her long ago, before she was strong enough to stand up to him. You paid in the end though, you vile bastard, didn’t you? The barkeep’s wife started back in horror.
‘Who are you?’ she whispered. The scar-faced woman pushed a half tocrin across the table and watched the girl scuttle back to the bar.
Who am I? For years, I had forgotten. Brutila sipped the spiced wine, a poor substitute for the cintara bark that every bone and sinew in her body craved, but she had lost too many years in the clutches of addiction. It was ironic that the girl who had sent her into the pit of darkness now forced her back out into the light. Zastra. The name triggered a jagged kaleidoscope of memories; the girl with chestnut hair riding a fellgryff, Brutila’s migaradon crashing into the mountain, unbearable pain and then the brown haze of cintara madness. Dark times, scratching a living on the streets, despised by all. But then, just before winter, she overheard that name being spoken once more. Zastra was alive, it was whispered, and daring to raise a challenge to her uncle, Grand Marl Thorlberd, ruler of Golmeira. Those rumours had reignited a hatred inside Brutila that burned stronger than her desire for cintara bark. She’d got herself clean, suffering through the shakes and fevers. Such pain it had been, but it would be worth it if she found Leodra’s daughter. Thorlberd would pardon her and raise her back into the position of power that was hers by right. Brutila started her search at the place she had last seen Zastra and her little brother. Someone must know something. Even though Brutila’s mindweaving powers had been blunted by prolonged exposure to cintara bark, she could still dig secrets out of people’s minds, as long as they weren’t mindweavers themselves. She would find Leodra’s brats, no matter how long it took. And then they will pay the price for crossing me. As my father did.
Chapter Five
Two days after Fester and Florian had visited the bakery, Joril’s aunt returned from her winter travels. It was as if she and Lylian had conjured her up just by talking about her. Dalka fell upon her sister, sobbing uncontrollably. Joril found such displays embarrassing. Why couldn’t Dalka behave like a normal grown up? But Auntie Bodel always indulged these antics, wiping away her sister’s tears and soothing her as gently as a baby. Joril made a show of stacking empty bread tins, daring her aunt to find fault with her. Bodel looked at her over Dalka’s shoulder. As usual, her aunt’s lively brown eyes seemed to see deep inside her.
‘Nice to see you doing your bit. And for once without having to be bribed.’
Joril flushed. She had begun to help only after Dalka had agreed that she could have her pick of three unsold sponge cakes. Despite assurances to the contrary, Joril often wondered whether Bodel was a mindweaver.
‘Come here, my dear.’
Joril allowed Bodel to enfold her in an embrace. She gave into the warm softness, with its familiar scent of soap and fresh herbs. It was a pleasant sensation and Joril wallowed in it for a moment until she remembered something more important. She broke out of the hug.
‘Did you bring me a present?’
‘Straight to the point as usual.’ Bodel gave a wry smile. She reached into her voluminous bag and rummaged around. She pulled out a heavy book, bound in a green cloth cover. It carried the imprint of a man plunging a spear into the belly of a giant beast. Joril spelled out the words in the title.
‘Leg…legend of the Warriors. Oh, thanks!’
‘Does that earn me another hug?’ Joril scrunched up her face but didn’t object when Bodel embraced her again.
‘Now then, where’s Tomik?’
Dalka started back, fearful.
‘Tomik?’ she asked. ‘Who’s that?’
Joril chewed her lip. Not this again. Bodel took hold of her sister’s hands and spoke calmly and distinctly.
‘Your husband. Remember? Your little horse man with the red hair.’
Dalka’s eyes lit up.
‘Tomik.’ This time she spoke the words softly, caressingly. ‘He gave me flowers and told me he loved me.’
‘He does love you,’ Bodel insisted, but Joril couldn’t help noticing a slight hesitation. Dalka must have picked it up too. Her features darkened as black thoughts chased away the pleasant ones.
‘He’s hardly ever here. He doesn’t come home. He’d rather be at the inn with those lads from the stables.’ Her voice rose in pitch and Joril broke in to try and head off the trouble that she knew was coming.
‘That’s not true. It really isn’t, Auntie Bodel. He’s here most of the time. But sometimes, a man needs to unwind.’
Bodel rolled her eyes. ‘I see your Da’s got you well trained. His excuses don’t change. Run and get him, will you, Joril? Tell him he is needed at home. I’ve brought vizzal steaks and yellow-root. Dalka, why don’t you help me chop the vegetables?’
Bodel had only been home for a short while and she was already giving orders. Still, vizzal meat was a real treat and Joril reckoned if she took her time fetching Tomik she might get out of having to help with dinner. Dalka had already calmed down and started on the yellow-root. Joril had to admit that Bodel knew how to deal with Dalka’s strange moods better than anyone.
Tomik was a man of predictable habits. There were two inns in Highcastle village. If he was feeling flush with money he would partake of the ale and spiced wine on offer at the Lodaran Crest, otherwise he would be at the rough and ready Black Horse Inn, where the drinks were cheaper but the clientele less civil. Joril much preferred the Lodaran Crest. It lay just beyond the western outskirts of the village and had an unobscured view of Golmer Castle as it rose in distant grandeur above Highcastle Forest. It had only been a few days since payday so Joril decided to try there first.
She tugged her thin coat around her for warmth. How she longed for a thick, fur lined cloak like the one Thorlberd’s consort, the Lady Jintara, wore whenever she passed through the village. Although the bakery did well enough and Tomik had a steady job, such luxuries were far beyond their means. In the distance, the lights within Golmer Castle flowed out through the narrow slits in the outer walls, hanging in the evening air like lamps on invisible hooks. Joril wondered what entertainments were going on behind those walls. Dancing no doubt, and great feasts. Before she knew it, the sound of loud voices and laughter told her that she had reached the Lodaran Crest. As she was about to enter, the door burst open from the inside and two curly-haired figures came tumbling out, escorted by the brawny figure of Olyana, the innkeeper. It was Fester and Florian, the mindweaving twins. Joril almost felt sorry for them. Everybody knew that you didn’t mess with Olyana.
‘That’s the last time I want to see you pair in here, playing your tricks. Using your mind-meddling to make my taps open so you can steal my ale. You shouldn’t even be drinking at your age.’
‘You can’t prove it was me,’ said one of the twins.
‘Well, it were one of you and since I can’t tell which, yer both barred.’
‘It was just a joke.’
‘Stealin’ ain’t funny. Not when you spring a tap from my best barrel of Arrowsmead.’
‘Fine. Florian, pay the woman.’
A fountain of demi-tocrins flew into the air, looping around each other as if an invisible juggler was playing with them. Olyana reached out with her large, fat fingers, but the fountain danced playfully away from her. Fester giggled. Florian was so busy concentrating on the coins that he failed to see his danger. Olyana grabbed his belt with one hand, scrunched her sausag
e-like fingers around a tuft of his hair and swung him up above her head. The fountain of coins collapsed onto the ground.
‘Ow!’ Florian waggled his legs helplessly. ‘Let me go. Fester, help!’
But his twin was too busy being sick on the road.
‘You… shouldn’t… drink… ale if… you… can’t keep it down.’ Olyana grunted with the effort of holding Florian above her head.
‘You can’t treat me like this,’ Florian squealed. ‘Do you know who we are?’
Olyana dropped him to the ground with a thud.
‘I’ve dealt with worse than you. Now git!’
She bent down to pick up the coins, deposited them in her apron pocket and disappeared inside the inn.
‘We’ll get you back, you oversized freak,’ Fester cried. Then he noticed Joril, who had stood silently by the whole time.
‘Not a word of this to anyone, you hear?’
Joril spotted an opportunity.
‘I won’t tell if you get me into the castle.’
The twins tried to stare her down, but their comprehensive defeat at the hands of Olyana made them somewhat less intimidating. Joril folded her arms and waited. Fester lowered his eyes.
‘You’d need to have a reason to visit the castle. I won’t have the guards thinking we associate with a villager.’
‘I can bring some bread. Or cakes. Dalka’s iced buns are famous throughout the castle villages.’ This was true, although most people called them Mad Dalka’s buns. No need to tell them that part. Florian’s eyes widened in recognition. He slapped his brother on the back.
‘Hey, it’s Flour-head! From the bakery. Sure, we can get you in, if you’d like. Why are you so keen to come to the castle?’
Joril tried to sound casual.
‘I just want to look at the great hall and the rooms. And I don’t suppose… is there any chance… might Lord Rastran be there?’
She tailed off as Fester burst out laughing.
‘All the village girls love Lord Rastran. I suppose you think he’ll take one look at you and fall in love?’
Joril felt her cheeks burn, but even so, she wasn’t prepared to give up what might be her one chance to get inside the castle.
‘Will you let me in or not? Only I bet the guards will laugh just as hard when I tell them what Olyana did to you.’
‘Don’t threaten us, Flour-head,’ Fester began, but his brother leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Fester pushed back his shoulders.
‘As it happens, we did like your bread. Very tasty. If you want to bring us some more as a gift, we won’t say no.’
‘I’d like some of those famous iced buns too,’ Florian added.
‘And three iced buns for my little brother. Think you can manage that, Flour-head?’
Joril nodded. She tried not to think about the last time she had taken one of Dalka’s iced buns without asking. Her mother had freaked out because the numbers weren’t right. It had taken days to calm her down. She’d have to be careful. The twins headed off towards the castle and Joril looked wistfully after them, wishing she could follow. Then she remembered why she had come. With all the excitement, she and Tomik were going to be late.
Chapter Six
By good fortune, Tomik was indeed at the Lodaran Crest. They ran all the way home, arriving just as supper was being dished up. Joril pretended not to see Bodel’s disapproving look as she washed her hands and sat down at the table. Dalka was plucking at the skin on her forearm. She never liked things to be rushed and got flustered when people weren’t where they were supposed to be. Joril felt a momentary pang of guilt, but excitement about her impending visit to the castle soon overcame that. As she speared a piece of roasted yellow-root, she tried to figure out how she might sneak away. It would be more difficult than usual with Bodel around. If she was going to have time to get to the castle and have a good look round, she would need to find an excuse for being absent for most of the afternoon.
‘Dreaming again, Joril?’
Bodel was looking at her expectantly.
‘Um, yes?’ she mumbled.
‘I was asking what took you so long. The Lodaran Crest is not so far away.’
‘I went to the Black Horse first.’ To Joril’s relief, her lie diverted her aunt’s hawk-like gaze towards her father.
‘Are things so difficult that you frequent the Black Horse now, Tomik?’
‘Sometimes. This vizzal is right lovely, Bodel.’ It was a blatant change of subject, but it had the benefit of being true. Bodel could cook almost as well as her sister could bake. Bodel seemed appeased.
‘I suppose these new taxes don’t help. Dalka was telling me they levied yet another business tax last month. I don’t know why Thorlberd needs even more of our money. To pay for the conquest of yet another unfortunate country I suppose.’
Joril groaned inwardly. It was always the same with Auntie Bodel. Boring politics. And her father would inevitably take the opposite view. Sure enough, Tomik dived into the fray.
‘Thorlberd’s the greatest Grand Marl we’ve ever had. Sorted out Sendor, didn’t he? Knows his horses too. Our stable is the best I’ve ever seen. His new white stallion from Southland is the most beautiful fella I’ve ever had the privilege to take care of.’
Bodel turned on him. ‘Do you know what other people say about Golmeirans because of Thorlberd? Do you know how he treats the Sendorans? I saw a chain-gang building the new dock at Seacastle. Most of them could barely stand. I wouldn’t treat animals that way. Thorlberd cares more about horses than people, it seems.’
‘Sendorans deserve it. They’d do the same to us.’
‘What about the Far Islanders? Everyone says they’ll be next.’
Tomik shrugged. ‘Everyone knows the Far Isles charge too much for their tobacco and wine. And the tariffs they put on our goods is downright robbery. If they belonged to Golmeira, we’d all be better off.’
‘The only folks I see getting richer are marls and generals, while our taxes go up and up. What happened to the tenants’ rights that Leodra promised? Anyone who speaks up gets arrested, or simply disappears. It’s not right. Leodra wouldn’t have allowed it.’
Bodel’s voice rose as she warmed to her topic. Dalka and Tomik exchanged nervous glances.
‘Quiet down,’ Tomik whispered. ‘These walls ain’t so thick. There’s folks been carted off for saying less.’
‘And don’t you think that’s wrong?’ Bodel retorted, but Joril noted that she had lowered her voice all the same.
‘No one who’s loyal has anything to fear.’ Tomik set down his knife and fork. ‘Look, Bodel, I know that you are set against Thorlberd after what happened with Morel and Bedrun, but it’s time to move on. You don’t want people remembering how thick you were with Leodra and his family.’
Bodel closed her eyes for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft and hoarse.
‘Leodra was a good man. I’m proud to have known him.’
‘And now he’s a dead man. I don’t want Dalka or our Joril dragged into any trouble.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to get through your fool skull. Anyone can be dragged away, with nobody to stand up for them. If a child is found to be a blueblood they’re hauled off to the castle whether they like it or not. The family gets no say.’
‘I want to live in the castle,’ Joril interjected. ‘I wish I was a blueblood.’
Bodel frowned.
‘Don’t be silly, Joril, you don’t know what you’re saying. Anyway, you were tested when you were little. You aren’t a blueblood.’
‘At least my life would be more interesting. I’d learn things. And I’d have decent clothes. I’ve not had a new dress all year.’
Dalka began plucking at her skin again. Bodel patted her hand soothingly.
‘You do well enough, Joril,’ she said calmly. ‘Better than most. You must promise me never to go to the castle. It’s full of mindweavers. Your secrets wouldn’t be your own anymore.’
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t have any secrets.’
Joril tried not to flush as Bodel raised an eyebrow. She racked her brain. She didn’t want to make a promise that she had no intention of keeping. She pretended to give in.
‘It’s not as if they’d let me in anyway. They don’t let us villagers anywhere near, unless you work there like Father does.’
‘Good.’
Tomik snorted in amusement. ‘I’d have thought you’d be mad about the injustice of us poor villagers being denied entry to the castle. What do you say to that, eh?’
Bodel glared at Tomik. Dalka began to hum loudly, a sure sign she was about to flip out. Joril quickly changed the subject.
‘Tell us what you’ve been doing all winter, Auntie.’
Bodel smiled at her gratefully.
‘Good question, Joril. I’ve been to the Helgarths for yaya-root and the Bractarian Forest for vivawort. A healer I know there had several new recipes for me. One for eye-droop that she swears is almost as good as a cure.’
Bodel continued to talk about her travels. Joril pretended to pay attention, although she couldn’t have been less interested. At least she’d avoided making a promise not to go to the castle. All she had to do now was think of a plan to get away from the bakery for a whole afternoon.
Chapter Seven
Brutila grabbed the wrist of a Golmeiran soldier.
‘What place is this?’
It was the seventh town in the Borders that she had visited and they were all starting to look the same. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish reality from the visions that still haunted her, one of the remnants of her cintara addiction. Had she already been here?
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