Return to Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  ‘I don’t get it. You’ve been mean to Pol all day, but then you take her watch and now you’re even drying her clothes.’

  ‘You’re right, we need Polina at her sharpest if this Brutila is as strong as you say.’

  ‘You agree with me? I wish you’d say so in front of the others.’

  ‘What, and have everyone think I agree with a Golmeiran?’

  Kylen’s teeth glowed in the firelight. Zastra poked the fire again.

  ‘You know, deep inside that miserable Sendoran exterior, I wonder if there isn’t a kind, thoughtful soul battling to get out.’

  In response, a clod of dirt flew out of the darkness and hit Zastra full on the side of her head.

  ‘My mistake,’ Zastra said ruefully.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The untidy collection of houses and sheds at the base of the valley could barely be called a village. A muddy track, scarred by overlapping wheel ruts and countless hoof prints, ran through it from north to south. Amongst the knot of houses sat a stone building somewhat larger than its neighbours. Above its weather-beaten door hung a faded sign, upon which the outline of a keg was just visible through flaking paint.

  Hanra was first through the door. Dalbric had not seen her move so quickly since they left Fivepeaks. The drizzle had turned to driving rain and he and Findar were quick to follow Hanra’s lead. They stood in the doorway of a dimly lit room, water dripping from their sodden clothes. A handful of benches and a pair of roughly hewn tables supplied the only furniture. The small fire guttering at the far end of the room indicated their host was miserly with the coal. Two women glanced up from one of the tables as Hanra seized a bench and dragged it towards the fireplace. Dalbric gently nudged Fin after her. The poor lad was white with cold. Dalbric looked around but there was no one except the two women.

  ‘Um, excuse me…’ he began hesitantly. The tallest woman rose slowly, walked across to a small red door in the side of the room, rapped twice and returned to her companion. A few moments later a squat, balding man with a square cut beard emerged. He looked them over, frowning as he took in their plain apparel and mudsplattered boots.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked, holding position just inside the doorway. Hanra gave him her best dimpled smile. The man’s expression did not change a jot.

  ‘We’d like some hot chala please and two of your best rooms,’ she said.

  ‘We only got the one room.’ The man jerked his head toward the corridor behind him. ‘Three of you, is there? That’ll be three tocrins then.’

  Hanra’s smile vanished, to be replaced by a sharp look that Dalbric knew well.

  ‘We ain’t valley folks. One room, one tocrin seems a fair rate to me. Or do you want a reputation for cheating your customers?’

  After some haggling, Hanra secured the room and supper for two tocrins. The supper took a long time to arrive and when it did, it was limited to three bowls of lukewarm oatmeal that needed an extra pinch of salt. The chala that followed was weak and not sweet enough, but at least it was hot.

  ‘That’s better, ain’t it?’ Dalbric tried to sound cheerful. ‘At least we’ll have a comfy bed to sleep in tonight.’

  Hanra snorted, and when the innkeeper showed them to the room it was windowless and drab, unfurnished save for a wormy chest in one corner and a pair of lumpy mattresses lying directly on the floor. At least the blankets were thick and made from mountain goatswool. Dalbric ran an expert finger over them. Not as soft as from his own herd, but together with their travelling blankets they would be snug enough. Hanra flung herself down on one of the mattresses and was soon snoring gently. Fin sat on the edge of the other mattress and hugged his knees. Dalbric placed a blanket around his shoulders.

  ‘All right, little man?’

  Fin pulled the blanket round his body so that it covered him completely, even his feet.

  ‘I still can’t believe that I once lived in a castle and my father was a Grand Marl. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  He rested his forehead on his knees. Dalbric sat down beside him.

  ‘It was safer for you not to know. Mindweavers and all that. I’m sure your sister was going to explain when you were older.’

  ‘Sometimes I almost forget what she looked like.’

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of broken firering. It glinted in the candlelight.

  ‘It’s been nearly four years. Why hasn’t she come back?’

  ‘I don’t know, Fin.’

  ‘You say that a lot.’

  Fin turned to the wall and lay down, pulling his blanket up to his chin. Dalbric lay down beside him and blew out the candle.

  Dalbric jerked awake. Something had roused him, but what? He opened his eyes, but the darkness was so deep it was as if his eyes were still closed. He waved his hand in front of his face, but saw nothing but blackness. Somewhere, something rattled. Rain against the roof tiles perhaps. Or something else?

  He jumped up, turning his ankle as he slipped off the edge of the mattress. He cursed under his breath. The sharp pain in his ankle was mirrored by another between his temples. He felt a sudden dread, and fumbled his way across the room. The door creaked as he eased it open.

  ‘Dalbric, is that you?’ Findar’s low voice made him jump.

  ‘Hush, Fin. I thought I heard something.’

  He stepped out into the corridor and stopped to listen. Was that someone whispering, or was is just the wind? Get hold of yourself, man. A narrow band of orange ran along the floor to his left. He realised it was light from the main room leaking beneath the red door. The band flickered as something moved to block out the light. He shuffled forward and leaned his ear against the door. Maybe it was just the innkeeper. He jumped again as a warm hand snaked into his. Fin. At that moment, Dalbric felt another stabbing pain in his head and then his body froze in position. He couldn’t move. It felt as if he’d been buried in clay. Horrified realisation dawned. He had felt like this only once before, when a mindweaver had controlled him.

  ‘Brutila!’ he cried in dismay. ‘Run, Fin, run!’ But even as he shouted the warning, he recalled there was no back door or window in their little chamber. They were trapped. The door was flung open. The orange glow from the embers of the fire illuminated three figures, one hooded. Dalbric’s vision began to blur. Fin shrank behind his legs.

  ‘Help!’ Dalbric yelled, but there was no one to answer his plea. The dark figures seemed to flicker and sway and his legs buckled. With a huge effort, he swung an arm and connected with something solid. Flesh. He grabbed it and grappled the intruder to the floor. As he did so, he felt a boot on his back. Someone was trampling over him.

  ‘I’ve got the boy!’ a woman’s voice cried in triumph. He heard Fin cry out, but he was pinned down, helpless as Findar was hauled away. In the faint light he saw one of Findar’s flailing arms dislodge the hood of his captor, revealing grey hair, cropped short. Something heavy connected with his temple and he saw no more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kylen pointed to the opposite side of the u-shaped valley that cut across their path from north to south.

  ‘The land on the far side is Sendor. The stream down there leads into the Borderline River and the fortress of Finistron lies a few days journey to the south. It was the last of our strongholds to fall.’

  She fell into silence. A morning mist hung in the air and the upper slopes of the mountains were obscured by clouds. A narrow path zig-zagged down a grassy slope towards a knot of stone houses in the valley below. Zastra pulled out her telescope.

  ‘No sign of soldiers. Or anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘Well, it’s the first sign of any kind of civilisation in days,’ Polina remarked and for once she took the lead, heading down the slope. Ithgol belched loudly.

  ‘Small wonder Polina reckons we’re uncivilised,’ Kylen remarked drily.

  Zastra hurried after the mindweaver. The most recent tracks suggested they were still almost a day behind Brutila and
her soldiers. They couldn’t afford to waste time. They entered the tiny hamlet and made for the inn. Kylen and Ithgol paused to examine the dirt track. Zastra barrelled past them and into the inn. She stopped dead in dismay. Hanra and Dalbric were seated at a table. Alone. A purple bump the size of a halsa nut sprouted from Dalbric’s temple. He tried to rise, but was forced to put a hand on the table to steady himself.

  ‘Layna!’ Hanra cried, but Zastra paid her no heed. Dalbric’s face told her all she needed to know.

  ‘Fin?’ Her legs went weak. Dalbric sank back down, his face grey.

  ‘They took him. I’m so sorry.’

  Polina hurried to him. ‘You look as pale as death. Let’s get you some chala. Is there an innkeeper? Hello there. Some service, please.’

  A red door opened and a man with a square beard peered round. He scowled.

  ‘We don’t serve… them.’ He poked a dirty finger towards Ithgol, who bared his teeth in reply. Polina drew a couple of tocrins from her purse.

  ‘Perhaps this will encourage you to display the famous Border hospitality I’ve heard so much about? Some chala please, and any hot food you might have in the kitchens.’

  Zastra examined Dalbric’s head.

  ‘That’s quite a lump. What happened?’

  ‘It’s all your fault, Layna,’ Hanra exclaimed. ‘Or whatever you call yourself.’

  Dalbric grimaced as Zastra pressed down on the bump.

  ‘They came at us last night. Brutila, and others with her. I tried to fight them, but I couldn’t move. They took Fin.’

  ‘Did you see which way they went?’

  Dalbric shook his head and exhaled.

  ‘No. I only saw them drag him towards the door before they knocked me out.’

  ‘What about you, Hanra? Did you see anything?’

  Hanra looked a little sheepish as she shook her head. ‘Frecha always said I could sleep through a thunderstorm.’

  The innkeeper shuffled forward with a steaming jug of chala and a bottle of red liquid that he claimed was spiced wine, although it tasted more like reheated vinegar. Zastra made Dalbric drink some of the chala. The innkeeper tried to retreat but, at a signal from Zastra, Ithgol blocked his path.

  ‘The soldiers – where did they go?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘I don’t want trouble. I minds my own business.’

  Polina shot him a glance.

  ‘South,’ she said. ‘They went south.’

  The square beard dropped in shock. ‘What? How did you…?’

  Kylen coughed. ‘Polina is right, although there was no need for mindweaving. The tracks outside told the story. Two of the soldiers were carrying something heavy. They left deeper prints than the others.’

  ‘Fin,’ Zastra cried. Dalbric rose to his feet.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Hanra asked.

  ‘I’m going to find Fin. You’ll be safe here ’til I get back.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ exclaimed Hanra. She hefted Dalbric’s backpack onto her shoulders. ‘If you think I’m letting you go off on your own with her, you can think again.’

  ‘This is ridiculous.’ Kylen didn’t hide her disdain. ‘They’ll just slow us down.’

  Hanra rounded on her.

  ‘Who are you to tell me whether I can stay with my husband?’

  With all the excitement, there had not been time for introductions. Zastra spoke quickly.

  ‘This is Kylen, daughter of Mendoraz and the rightful Lord of Sendor. She has every right to an opinion and she makes a good point. We need to move quickly and Dalbric does not look well.’

  ‘And this one looks fat and slow.’ Kylen eyed Hanra up and down.

  ‘I’ll keep up,’ Dalbric said grimly. ‘Fin is as much a brother to me as he is to you.’

  Zastra could see he was resolved.

  ‘Fine. But if you slow us down we will have to leave you behind.’

  Brutila and her soldiers had made no efforts to cover their tracks. They could have no reason to suspect anyone was following. Kylen and Ithgol went ahead to pick up the trail, leaving the rest to follow as fast as they could. Hanra’s indignation gave her the strength to keep up for a while, even carrying Dalbric’s backpack, but around noon she began to lag behind. They stopped for a quick drink and Polina shared out some oatmeal biscuits from their supply. Dalbric reached to take his backpack from Hanra. Zastra stopped him.

  ‘You aren’t well enough. We will divide it up among us.’

  Before she would agree to carry extra weight Kylen insisted they discard anything she deemed unnecessary. Hanra wailed as most of her possessions were flung into the forest.

  ‘I bet Brutila is heading for the fortress at Finistron,’ Kylen remarked. ‘Thorlberd’s master at arms, Ixendred, has set up his headquarters there. Brutila will want reinforcements. We must catch them before they make it.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Polina asked.

  ‘Finistron was one of our strongest fortresses, built to resist anything an army could throw at it. It took a year for Thorlberd to capture it, and he only succeeded because of his migaradons. The architect who built Finistron didn’t reckon on flying creatures with the ability to rip walls apart. We’ll never be able to get Fin out once they’re inside.’

  ‘We need to go faster,’ said Zastra, her glance resting on Hanra.

  ‘Don’t look at me, I’m doing my best,’ Hanra protested. Kylen scanned the forest.

  ‘Maybe we can get some help, now that we are in Sendor.’

  She cupped her hands to her mouth and emitted a strange sound, something between a bellow and a whistle and sent it echoing round the valley. Hanra looked at her as if she had gone insane.

  ‘What in the stars is she doing?’

  ‘If there is a fellgryff within range, it may answer. If it has ever been ridden.’

  ‘May?’ Zastra quirked her eyebrow.

  Kylen shrugged. ‘Even a tamed fellgryff will choose whether to serve or not. They are not slavishly obedient like your Golmeiran horses.’ She sent out the strange call again, and it was answered from deep within the forest. Moments later, a brown creature with thick, untidy hair and two perfectly straight horns bounded out of the forest and skidded playfully to a halt in front of Kylen. Zastra noted how Kylen held its gaze, waiting for the fellgryff to bow its head in deference before she sprang aboard, whooping with joy as the fellgryff bucked and jumped beneath her. Kylen made staying on appear effortless but Zastra knew how difficult it was to ride the skittish animals. Within moments the fellgryff was pacified.

  ‘If we are lucky, this one has a mate,’ Kylen said.

  ‘If you think I’m getting on one of those creatures, you are sorely mistaken,’ Polina protested. Ithgol issued a grunt that indicated similar sentiments. Kylen glanced sideways at Zastra.

  ‘Fellgryffs don’t share territory. Unless this one has a mate, there will be no more. Two is the best we can hope for.’

  Zastra flexed her fingers. ‘Then I’d better get ready. I just hope I can remember how it’s done.’

  She knew a fellgryff would only give her one chance. If it threw her off, it would never respect her enough to let her try again. They waited and waited. Just as they were about to give up and continue on foot, a huge fellgryff stalked out of the forest. He was bigger than any Zastra had ever seen. He paused and began to paw at the muddy ground. Zastra did not like the way he was looking at her.

  ‘Um, it doesn’t look very friendly.’

  ‘No,’ Kylen remarked. ‘Not been tamed, this one. He’s a big fellow, too.’

  ‘I can see that, thanks very much.’

  But she needed to get to Findar, and this fellgryff would allow her to move quickly, if she could tame him. So she set her shoulders back and stepped forward. The bull fellgryff likewise stepped towards her and snorted. Twin jets of steam sprayed forth from his nostrils, right into her face. His scent was strong and musky. Zastra resisted the urge to look away from the dark brown eyes that glared at her disda
infully. She sensed his desire to trample her under his hooves. She forced herself to hold his gaze. I won’t let you intimidate me.

  Never had Zastra had to wait so long for a fellgryff to dip its head, the signal that it would let her attempt to mount. At last, it made a movement so small she almost missed it. It was now or never. She leapt for its broad back. As she did so, it jerked its rear away so that instead of landing squarely, she was only halfway aboard. She grabbed the thick hair on the back of its neck and yanked hard to right herself. The fellgryff bellowed in rage at such treatment and charged towards the trees, straight towards a low hanging branch. Zastra hunched down just in time. The rough bark scraped her back as she was dragged under the branch. You sneaky… She clung on desperately as the fellgryff bounded between the trees, brushing against trunks and branches to try and dislodge her. Then he swung back towards Kylen and the others. There were screams and cries as they dived out of the way. Without warning, the fellgryff planted his forelegs, his back legs rearing upwards. Zastra was almost thrown over its head, but she clung on with everything she had; hands, elbows, knees. The fellgryff bellowed in frustration, bucked a few more times and then stood still as a statue. Zastra began to relax her grip.

  ‘I think that might be—’

  ‘Not yet!’ Kylen shouted. The huge fellgryff sprang into the air and began to twirl round so fast that Zastra’s head spun. She kept her fingers bunched tightly round the coarse hair of its neck as the fellgryff galloped towards a deep pool of rainwater that had formed by the side of the track. Don’t you dare! He paid no heed to Zastra’s silent plea, plunged into the dirty water and rolled onto his side, trying to force Zastra beneath the surface. She couldn’t believe it; he was trying to drown her. Oh no you don’t. Furious, she yanked his neck upwards and dug her heels into his sides, forcing him out of the pool and back onto the track. Even then, he planted his hooves in the mud and shook his body, sending mud and water corkscrewing into the air. No doubt he hoped Zastra would be shaken off too, but she refused to be bested by this infuriating beast. At long last, he settled beneath her and permitted her to nudge him forward to rejoin the others. Water dripped from her hair and flooded out of her boots.