‘Continue, Higina.’ The woman stirred like a leaf buffeted by a wind-gust at the Grand Marl’s command.
‘I-I am sorry to report that Sendoran rebels have captured the supply of weapons meant for our garrison at Finistron,’ she stuttered.
‘How many rebels were there?’ Thorlberd glowered darkly.
‘A-at least three hundred, m-my Lord.’
‘You lie!’ Thorlberd crashed his fist down on the desk. A large crack opened up within the grain. ‘Don’t you know that I can see into the depths of your mind, even though you try to block me? Your thoughts scream your guilt.’
Higina flinched backward as Thorlberd narrowed his eyes.
‘I see twenty rebels, against a hundred of what you laughably believed to be your best troops.’
‘I… we killed five of them—’
Thorlberd cut through Higina’s protest. ‘But not the daughter of Mendoraz, who I see was among them. Killing the heir to Sendor might have rescued something from this abysmal failure. It is three years since we first invaded that miserable country. A year since you assured me it was subjugated. I will suffer this failure no longer.’
He beckoned Ixendred, who stepped forward promptly and snapped to attention.
‘Have you any ideas on how this rebellion might be crushed, Ixendred?’
Ixendred cleared his throat with confidence. His contacts had told him the news from Sendor and, being a most practical man, he had anticipated that Thorlberd might be looking for someone to replace Higina.
‘Yes, my Lord. First, we must cut off support for the rebels; deal firmly with any peasants that feed and shelter them. Anyone suspected of helping them must be punished. Also, we must commit more troops. We hold the towns and cities, but the countryside remains vulnerable.’
‘What would you recommend, were you to be my new Master at Arms?’
The two men paid no heed to the strangled squeak of protest from the increasingly perspiring Higina.
‘I propose we reassert control across Sendor, my Lord. And this time, it must be absolute. The Sendorans are seasoned warriors, willing to die for their cause. If we are to succeed, we need the help of experienced soldiers, equally ferocious and determined.’
‘Where do you propose we find such soldiers?’
‘The Kyrgs, my Lord. You used them before, and what a masterstroke it was. Why not call on them again?’
Thorlberd scratched his beard. ‘The exchequer is still deep in debt from the bribes I had to pay the Kyrgs to help overthrow my brother. This Sendoran business is a constant drain. I’ve already increased taxes twice and squeezed the marls for all they have. There is no more money.’
‘Why not use a mind lock, my Lord? I understand such things are possible for a skilled mindweaver. If you can control Jelgar, the Kyrg chieftain, the absolute obedience of the Kyrg army would do the rest. No need for money at all.’
‘I had considered this, when I seized control from my brother, but in order to ensure the lock remains in place, a mindweaver must stay close to Jelgar at all times. There was no one to whom I could entrust such a task without my brother finding out.’
Ixendred nodded in understanding.
‘But now, my Lord, secrecy is not required.’
Thorlberd acceded the point.
‘What mindweaver in their right mind would volunteer to live with those animals in the Northern Wastes?’ spluttered Higina. Thorlberd straightened his back.
‘A mindweaver who is anxious to make up for her recent failures, lest she meet the fate of my last two Masters at Arms.’
Realisation and horror chased each other across Higina’s broad features. Her predecessor had been executed for failing to capture one of Sendor’s major cities quickly enough. The one before that had so earned Thorlberd’s displeasure that it was said that he had driven her mad before releasing her to wander Golmeira in perpetual mental torment.
‘Start packing your furs, Higina. I hear that winter in the Northern Wastes is cold enough to freeze your fingers off. Deliver me the Kyrginites and I will let you live. I may even allow you to return once Sendor is under control.’
‘But…but…’ protested Higina, desperately searching for a flaw in the plan. ‘What if Jelgar’s guthans refuse to obey him? They would kill me, quick as blinking.’
‘As long as Jelgar is alive, they will obey his orders. It is the Kyrg way. Only if someone kills him does the leadership pass on. You must not let that happen. I will supply you with a small troop, to protect Jelgar.’
‘Protect Jelgar? What about me?’
Thorlberd furrowed his brow in annoyance.
‘I will give you another mindweaver, someone also eager to regain my good opinion. The two of you will have to keep each other alive.’
‘Kyrgs will not be enough. What about our fleet? It is desperately undermanned.’ Higina was clearly not going to give up without a fight. ‘We need to protect our shipping from pirates and Skurgs. I’ll bet General Ixendred hasn’t an answer to that problem.’
Ixendred coughed politely.
‘I believe I do have a solution. Our folk in the Border Mountains are tough and contribute little in taxes. Decree that everyone living there between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five must serve in the Golmeiran army. It would not be popular, but would solve our manpower problem.’
‘Popularity is irrelevant.’ Thorlberd waved a large hand dismissively. ‘See to it. Let that be the Kyrgs first task. They are good at sniffing out their prey and they know how to deal with anyone who refuses to co-operate. You are hereby appointed my new Master at Arms.’
Ixendred bowed.
‘You can count on me, my Lord.’
Chapter Four
‘Come on, Fin,’ urged Dalbric. ‘At this rate we’ll have to start back before we even get to Fivepeaks.’
Fin was trying to choose whether to take his wooden soldier or his pressed leaf collection. In his opinion, both were essential supplies for the trek down to Fivepeaks, but Etta had insisted that he could only take one. Dalbric picked up a large skein of yarn and made for the door. ‘If you can’t make up your mind, you’ll just have to stay here.’
‘I could stay behind with him,’ Zastra offered. Etta shook her head firmly.
‘We’ve been through this before. Folk’ll be suspicious if you don’t come down to the village.’
‘Nice try,’ Dalbric remarked. ‘I don’t understand how you can be happy to nearly break your neck climbing a jula tree and yet be scared of a few villagers.’
Zastra glared at him.
‘I’m not scared. I just don’t trust them. Especially the likes of Hanra, always asking questions.’
‘If you tried a bit harder to make friends, maybe they’d let it alone. I would have thought someone brought up in a castle would be more polite.’
Zastra frowned, and lowered her voice.
‘Careful, Fin might hear.’
Luckily, her brother was still pre-occupied in choosing what to take on the trip and was oblivious to their conversation. Dalbric mouthed a silent apology. At last Findar thrust aside the leaf collection and stuffed the soldier in his waistband and they set off. As they met the treeline, the little boy picked up a stick twice his height, which he proceeded to use as a staff. Within a few minutes he grew tired of carrying it and planted it upright in the centre of a patch of mud.
‘Will it grow into a tree?’ he asked hopefully.
‘’Course not,’ Dalbric said, laughing. ‘Has your sister been teaching you such nonsense?’
Fin looked upset.
‘Would it have hurt to pretend?’ Zastra whispered.
‘Lies won’t help him survive in the mountains.’
Zastra plucked the stick from the ground and threw it for Dalbric to catch. She stepped off the path and snapped a slim branch from a sapling, stripping off the side shoots and she balanced it on her palm to feel its weight.
‘I remember my first spring in the mountains, you told me yellow root
s grew at the top of silver ferns. I nearly killed myself on the thorns trying to climb up.’
‘Ain’t my fault you believed me,’ grinned Dalbric. ‘The clue was in the word “root”.’
Zastra swung her stick sharply. Dalbric used his own to parry her blow. They began to circle each other. Zastra had taught Dalbric how to spar to fill the time when they were shut indoors during the long winters. He thrust towards her chest, but she sidestepped smartly, and rapped him across the hand.
‘Ow!’ he yelped, dropping his stick and sucking on his knuckles. ‘Do you have to hit so hard?’
‘Never attack unless you have your defence prepared. You wouldn’t last a minute against a trained fighter.’
‘Stop playing at soldiers, will you?’ snapped Etta. ‘Layna, if that wool gets spoiled—’ She was brought up short by another coughing fit that lasted so long her face turned an angry shade of red. Zastra threw aside her stick and fumbled to release the flask of water from her waistband. She offered it to Etta.
‘Ma, you should talk to Lindarn about that cough. It’s been getting worse even though winter is behind us.’
‘I’m not going to bother the healer over a little cold. I’ll be right in a few days.’
‘Fin!’ Zastra cried, horrified by the sight of her brother on the brink of investigating his way into a fast flowing stream.
‘Look – a fishy.’ Findar leaned out and dipped his pale fist into the water. Zastra only just managed to grab the back of his shirt before he toppled in.
‘Fish for lunch?’ he suggested hopefully. Zastra looked along the stream. Further down the mountainside it dropped into a shallow pool. She wedged her precious bag of wool next to a large rock and clambered along towards it. Settling onto her stomach she sank her left arm beneath the water so that it lay on the bed of the stream. The water was ice cold and ate into her flesh, needles of pain slowly replaced by numbness. She resisted the urge to flex her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of silver as a fat river trout shot down the stream and into the pool.
‘Is there a fish? Where is it? Where?’ Fin had followed behind and leaned over Zastra’s shoulder to peer into the water.
‘Hush, you’ll scare it.’
With a flick of its tail, the grey-scaled fish glided towards a patch of sunlight and paused above Zastra’s submerged arm. In a single fluid movement, she flicked it out onto the bank, reached for her knife and chopped off its head.
‘Ugh!’ cried Fin. ‘Poor fishy.’ He ran back to Etta and buried his head in her skirts as Zastra grabbed her pack and followed, holding up the large trout in triumph. Etta, who seemed to have recovered from her fit, led Fin away down the mountain with his head still buried in her skirts.
‘No need to show off,’ remarked Dalbric. ‘I taught you well, is all.’
Zastra pulled him back, until Etta and Fin were out of earshot.
‘I’m concerned about Etta. That’s more than just a cold, whatever she says.’
‘You heard her. She refuses to see Lindarn.’
‘What if I bring him to Frecha’s? She can hardly refuse to see him then.’
Dalbric looked astonished at such a bold suggestion.
‘She’ll be real mad at you.’
‘Well, we’re both used to that. As soon as Etta and Frecha get gossiping, I’ll sneak out and find him.’
They reached the outskirts of Fivepeaks village just before noon. At the first farm they passed, a tall, muscular man was ploughing furrows with great intensity.
‘Kikan!’ Findar waved vigorously at the man. However, Kikan paid them no heed, but continued on, forcing his hand-held plough into the earth as if it were an enemy to be defeated.
‘Why didn’t he say hello?’ Fin asked, downcast.
‘He’s busy,’ explained Etta. ‘Kikan knows the importance of getting the oats planted early. And it doesn’t look as if Raurak is helping him. That’s what he gets for marrying a soft valley man. More trouble than they’re worth.’
Zastra wondered if that remark was aimed at her. After all, like Kikan’s husband, she had not been born in the mountains. In the eyes of Etta and the other villagers, she was one of the soft valley folk and always would be, no matter how hard she worked to prove herself.
They passed a few more scattered farmhouses before the narrow path widened into a track that marked the entrance to Fivepeaks itself. Houses were packed more densely together there, one of the largest having an upper floor with elaborately carved shutters flung open to let in the spring air. A youth with short hair leaned out of an upstairs window and waved at them. Three moles lay in a line down his left cheek.
‘Ho, Layna!’ he called a sing-song voice.
Zastra increased her pace, refusing to look up.
‘You look so fine, please be mine, oh Lay—naaa.’
Dalbric nudged her.
‘Looks like Gonjik still likes you. Can’t think why. I see now why you were scared to come – afraid he’ll try and kiss you again?’
‘If it was you he wanted to kiss, you’d be running back up the mountain as quick as blinking.’
‘True,’ Dalbric acknowledged. Gonjik’s head disappeared. Moments later he skipped out of the door into Zastra’s path, forcing her to stop.
‘Trade a kiss to let you past?’
Zastra shoved him aside. ‘I’d rather kiss a goat’s backside. It’s prettier and less smelly.’
‘Layna, don’t be rude,’ admonished Etta.
Gonjik was followed out of his house by his mother, Mexun, a pinched-faced woman who served as the village carpenter. Etta stiffened, but greeted her politely.
‘Off to see Frecha, I suppose,’ the carpenter remarked. ‘Geort hasn’t made it back yet. I expect he’s found a younger woman to spend all that firedust money on.’
‘Geort would do no such thing,’ Etta protested. ‘I won’t listen to such ugly gossip. And before you ask, we don’t need any furniture, thank you very much.’
‘I was only saying hello,’ Mexun began, but Etta moved them briskly along before the carpenter could continue. When it was clear she would be getting no gossip and no business, Mexun turned away, dragging Gonjik back into the house with her, much to Zastra’s relief.
When they reached the weaver’s house, the door was yanked open before they could knock by a plump girl of about Zastra’s age.
‘Dalbric,’ she exclaimed brightly, breaking into a dimpled smile. ‘How nice to see you. Oh, and here’s Etta and dear little Fin.’
‘Hi, Hanra,’ mumbled Dalbric, in the general direction of the floor. He surreptitiously licked his palms and pressed them down on his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to flatten it down.
‘Hello,’ Zastra said pointedly. Hanra flicked her eyes briefly towards her and then skipped back into the house, leaving them to follow. Dalbric stood fixed in the doorway, gazing in adoration at Hanra’s receding figure. Zastra planted two hands on his back and shoved him forwards. The dark hallway widened into a pleasant room with a large window. An older version of Hanra in miniature sat by a loom, eyes shining in pleasure. She did not get up, but opened her arms and wiggled her fingers in welcome.
‘Etta, Dalbric, how lovely. Oh, and here’s Layna and my darling little Fin. How he has grown! Come here, duckie, and sit on my knee. How is everyone?’
‘We are all quite well,’ Etta said quickly, before anyone else had chance to speak. ‘We brought the first batch of wool.’
Frecha reached out to twist the yarn between her thumb and forefinger.
‘This is lovely. Very soft. Should fetch a good price. I’m glad. Mexun has been pestering me for money, even though I keep telling her Geort won’t be back from the Helgarths until midsummer.’
‘Why so late?’
‘Shortage of firedust, so they’ve extended the mining season. I suppose he’ll get more money, but I could really do with some now.’
‘Us too,’ remarked Dalbric. ‘Our axe has so many chips and cracks, it’s a wond
er it’s still in one piece.’
‘You surely need new trousers too, duckie.’
Dalbric had been victim of a grown spurt over the winter and the lower part of his calves protruded below the hem of his trousers.
‘I don’t agree, Ma,’ Hanra interjected. ‘Dalbric has such strong calves. He should have them on display more often.’
Dalbric blushed furiously.
Zastra held up the trout.
‘We brought lunch.’
‘Oh, how kind!’ Frecha exclaimed. ‘Hanra – get the stove going, will you, duckie?’
‘Um, shall I chop some wood?’ offered Dalbric, his face still in high colour. He picked up an axe that was resting against the wall.
‘Be careful you don’t do anything to damage those lovely calves,’ Zastra remarked.
‘I don’t feel too well,’ said Hanra, affecting a cough, ‘Layna won’t mind cooking, will you?’
Zastra minded very much. Not only because Hanra didn’t look at all ill, but she could hardly go and fetch Lindarn if she was stuck in the kitchen.
‘I was hoping to go for a walk,’ she protested. ‘Round the village.’
‘But you’ve just walked all that way down the mountain,’ Hanra returned smugly. ‘Why would you want to go out again?’
‘No business of yours.’ Zastra felt herself getting angry.
‘Always so secretive, ain’t you? You’ve never even told us where you are from. Anyone can see you ain’t no mountain girl.’
‘I told you, she’s my cousin’s girl,’ Etta interjected.
If you knew who I really was, you’d be a lot nicer, I’d bet, Zastra thought, glaring at Hanra. I can almost picture the look on your face. However, she bit back a retort and began to descale the fish.
‘Oh, how kind of you Layna,’ said Frecha. ‘My back has stiffened up today, and Hanra seems to have another of her fevers, poor dear.’
Hanra offered up a pathetic hiccup, as if to confirm her incapacity, whilst still finding the energy to give Zastra a look of sly triumph when no one else was looking. Zastra found a frying pan, and began to cook the fish. Meanwhile, Etta began to help Frecha set the yarn upon the loom.
Murthen Island: Book Two: Tales of Golmeira Page 2