Zastra stared after Justyn, her lips tight. Kylen folded her arms and hunched her shoulders.
‘That was an interesting move. I was sure Justyn had the best of you.’
‘I don’t like to lose.’ Zastra threw down her stick. Three knives had been placed, hilt upwards in the ground. She picked one up and flung it towards a circular target that had been nailed to a tree trunk. More than half the blade disappeared into the centre of the target, such was the force of the throw. Kylen winced.
‘Pretending that’s me?’
‘Could you blame me if I did?’ Zastra reached down and plucked the second knife from the ground.
‘It was politics, not personal.’
‘Since when did you care about politics?’
‘Since someone taught me that not everything can be solved with a solid punch in the face.’
The corner of Zastra’s mouth twitched. Was that a hint of a smile? She hurled the second knife, left-handed this time. It landed a hairsbreadth from the first. She did not seem inclined to speak further. She wasn’t going to make this easy. Kylen opened her arms but then, not knowing where to put her hands, she folded them again.
‘I bet you’re glad of the chance to stretch your legs after being stuck here for so long,’ she offered eventually. Zastra picked up the last knife and balanced on her palm, feeling the weight. For the first time, she looked straight at Kylen.
‘I have always relied on you to speak the truth to me, even if it is painful to hear. Have you no explanation for undermining me in front of the council?’
Kylen could see the effort it was taking Zastra to speak, and the spark of hope in her dark eyes as she asked the question. But it was impossible to confess the shameful truth; that her people were a hairsbreadth away from betraying Zastra and seizing Uden’s Teeth for themselves. She stared at her feet and shook her head.
‘Then we’ve nothing more to say to each other,’ Zastra said, turning away.
‘I only wanted… to wish you luck. Try not to get yourself killed.’ Kylen’s words came out fast and awkward.
‘If we are talking politics, my death might suit some Sendorans very well.’
Kylen flinched. Did Zastra suspect the truth?
‘I would hardly be sending Hylaz with you if I wanted you dead.’
Zastra swatted at a swarm of blackfly that had gathered around her head.
‘Another bodyguard – just what I need. Ithgol is bad enough, following me everywhere. This morning, I had to sneak out while he was in the bath house.’ Kylen felt a momentary flash of exasperation. Didn’t Zastra realise how much she was giving up by offering her Hylaz?
‘If you’re so angry, why reward me by putting me in charge?’
Zastra gave a short, bitter laugh.
‘You’re mistaken if you think it’s a reward.’ She swivelled, balanced on one leg and threw the knife underhand. It landed just beneath the other two. A nice grouping, Kylen thought admiringly, as Zastra dried her palm against the side of her thigh before turning back to face Kylen.
‘I doubt you’ll take advice from me, but try to listen to the others. They can have useful ideas. If you need someone to talk to, Dobery is a good listener. And no renaming that island New Sendor.’
‘Don’t worry. I like the name you chose.’
Zastra retrieved her knives. They were so deeply embedded that the muscles on her forearms corded as she tugged at them.
‘It was politics, not personal.’ Zastra threw Kylen’s comment back at her.
Kylen watched her head back towards Port Krysfera at a brisk jog. She’d been right. The meeting had been every bit as painful as she had predicted. Zastra was hurting and Kylen could do nothing about it. She longed to run after her, to apologise and to explain everything, but the alliance they had worked so hard to build was more important than personal feelings. Yet she watched Zastra’s slim frame disappear into the trees with regret. It might be the last time they would ever see each other, and they had parted like enemies. She suddenly felt very much alone.
Chapter Twelve
Lorzan’s linen shirt stretched around his broad shoulders as he dipped his paddle into the water. Zastra watched him closely from behind, following his lead. Her arms burned from the effort of paddling the heavily-laden canoe against the current. Hylaz and Polina worked equally hard on the opposite side. There were eleven of them packed into the canoe, including five mindweavers. Dobery was not strong enough for such a journey, so Morvain and Polina had volunteered to lead the younger ones; a spiky-haired youth called Waylin and two recently graduated trainees, Gwylla and Zenarbia, young women who seemed awed by their companions. Ithgol, together with Justyn, Urbek and the two Sendorans made up the rest of the party. Zastra wasn’t sure what to make of Lorzan. As soon as they began paddling upriver, the dark-haired Sendoran rolled up his sleeves to reveal muscular forearms covered in scars. Sendorans believed scars demonstrated both experience and courage. Lorzan had been making a point. He proved more taciturn even than Ithgol, barely talking even to his compatriot Hylaz, who seemed in low spirits. In contrast, Morvain had an opinion on every decision and offered frequent advice that was either unnecessary or demonstrated his lack of experience of such rough travelling. It seemed Zastra would have to rely on Polina and Justyn for sensible conversation.
They had been dropped at the mouth of a wide river delta clogged with beds of feathery reeds that spread out from the shoreline, poking up between tree roots that were tangled like birds’ nests beneath the clear water. Zastra was glad she’d had the foresight to bring a canoe, even if half the members of her expedition had never handled a paddle. Morvain was already complaining of blisters. She had divided them into shifts, pairing Morvain and Gwylla, who was slight and delicate, with Justyn and Ithgol, who were strong enough to ensure that the canoe continued to make progress. The other three members of their party rotated in whenever anyone became too tired to continue. She had insisted they limit their baggage to the minimum. The jetty at Port Krysfera had creaked under the weight of the boxes of dried meat and sacks of rice and oats that Pitwyn had supplied for their journey. When Zastra tried to explain that it was far too much to carry, Pitwyn had produced Radogan, the poor fellow bent double under a bulging backpack.
‘Radogan’s my best man. You’ll need a servant my lady – with all the inconveniences – I myself would have deemed it an honour, but alas, my poor back – tried every remedy, even the Sendoran healers – but you have more important matters to deal with than my poor health – Radogan is a most excellent cook and a skilled carpenter. You will need shelters at night and he is handy with a – Radogan, where is the mattress I set aside for Lady Zastra?’
Zastra struggled to make Pitwyn understand they would have no time for building shelters and certainly no room for mattresses. Radogan offered her a look of pure gratitude when she insisted she wouldn’t deprive Pitwyn of his best man. Zastra herself packed little. They would need to move fast to have any chance of getting to Aliterra before Thorlberd. She took her prized crossbow, with a selection of normal and scale-tip bolts, the latter reserved for killing migaradons. A metal pot with a bowl and spoon, her telescope, a pair of leather waterskins and a firering was all she really needed, besides the sword lashed to her back. After some consideration, she also packed a knife, a candle and a ball of strong twine. And there was the manacle key, stashed in a hidden pocket in her waistband, that she had carried ever since her ordeal in Thorlberd’s dungeons. Even though she was unlikely to need it, knowing it was there was a comfort. She filled the cookpot with oats and a bag of toffee, but they would have to scavenge most of their food as they travelled. She felt a familiar surge of excitement as they set off. The wind sweeping through her hair as they left the protection of the bay felt like freedom. Her only regret was the bitterness of her exchange with Kylen. Despite everything, she wished Kylen was with them. The Sendoran was handy in a tight spot and, unlike some of their current party, she knew how to travel rough.
Zastra put extra force to her next few strokes and the canoe lurched forward. A sound, indistinct at first, resolved into the roar of rushing water. The river narrowed and the current strengthened against them. Strands of foam began to swirl around the canoe and they had to fight harder and harder to keep moving forward. Rounding a bend in the river, they approached the source of the noise. Rapids led up towards a narrow ravine, where a waterfall plunged over a shelf of rock. Hylaz and Lorzan steered them towards the edge of the river.
‘It seems we have travelled as far as we can in this vessel. We will be able to proceed no further comrades,’ said Morvain as the Sendorans jumped out and held the canoe steady to allow the rest to step ashore. ‘What should we do with this canoe? I wonder if we should attempt to carry it over the rapids? The river may continue beyond.’ He was still debating this point as Zastra and Justyn tied the canoe securely to the roots of one of the trees. ‘On second thoughts, I believe we should leave it here.’ Morvain gestured towards the jumble of rocks and boulders that stood in their way. ‘There does not appear to be a path. Are you certain that this is the best route? Perhaps we should have tried the other side first.’
‘It was sheer,’ Hylaz remarked.
‘Indeed. Quite right, it would have been too difficult for the trainees. Lead on my good man.’
Lorzan was already leaping from rock to rock with the surefootedness of a fellgryff.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Polina asked as Morvain set off after the Sendoran. She hefted his heavy pack out of the canoe.
‘What? Oh yes, of course. Thank you, Polina.’ Morvain gave her a faint smile. Zastra suspected he had been unable to resist accepting some of Pitwyn’s delicacies. The Southlander made a big show of hefting his pack onto his shoulders. ‘We should have brought porters. I don’t know why you didn’t let Radogan join us. He would be a very useful fellow to have along.’ When nobody responded to this observation, he adjusted his straps until his backpack was finally in a position he was happy with.
‘Very well, I suppose we should get going,’ he said, before realising everyone else was already halfway up the ravine.
It was a tough climb. Once they were above the rapids, the valley narrowed further and the sides got steeper. They were forced to walk right up against the edge of the river, sometimes wading through it to make progress.
‘My boots will be ruined!’ Morvain protested as he and Zastra edged along a shelf that sat below the waterline. ‘Wouldn’t we be better off climbing up the side of this ravine and travelling along the top?’
Not for the first time, Zastra explained the advantages of staying close to a water supply and pointed out that rivers often made the best routes through mountains, particularly those covered with trees. They clambered up the side of the waterfall and into a tapering defile, which they followed for several leagues. The river narrowed until it was no more than a rivulet and they broke out into a landscape of conifers that grew so close to each other that their branches intertwined to form an impenetrable network. The stream bed provided the only gap between the dense trees.
‘Surely it is time for a rest? We must think of the trainees,’ gasped Morvain, sweat pouring from his brow as he plonked himself down on a boulder. He looked in a worse state than anyone, except perhaps Gwylla, who had struggled to navigate the larger boulders, gratefully accepting a hand or a shove when it was needed. At Morvain’s suggestion, she sank to the ground with a sigh of relief and eased her backpack from her shoulders. Zastra called out to Lorzan, who was almost out of sight, and stopped to take a sip from one of her waterskins. It wouldn’t hurt to have a short break. She took a moment to look back down the valley. The Serene Sea shimmered in the distance. It did indeed look like a mirror.
‘It is being lovely.’ Urbek stood beside her, appreciating the view. He seemed fully recovered from his ordeal at Bractaris Castle. His breathing was almost normal and he had barely broken sweat. His mottled skin was no longer yellow, his coating of yellowsap having been washed away. ‘Although not like the Makhana Forest, my home, which is the most beautiful of all places.’
‘There are many kinds of beauty,’ Zastra remarked. ‘I am looking forward to seeing yours.’
Urbek grinned at her. ‘I am liking you, Zastra of Golmeira.’
‘Good.’ She returned his smile. ‘Because I wish to ask a favour.’
‘Being so kind as to ask what?’
‘Teach me to speak your language.’
She had come to believe that Aliterra might be the key to defeating Thorlberd and hoped to impress Tharl Rafadal when they met. The effort of learning a new language would be a small price to pay if the Aliterrans agreed to join their alliance. Once Morvain and Gwylla had caught their breath, they continued to follow the stream bed as it cut through the conifers. Urbek pointed to various things and told Zastra the Aliterran words. It was a strange, guttural language. Some of the words sounded like choking. Urbek found her efforts amusing, doubling up with laughter as she struggled to make the right sounds. By the time they reached the source of the river, they were above the treeline and she had learned the words for everything they could see. Not that there had been much besides “sky”, “trees”, “stream” and “rock”, but it was a start. Now they were above the trees, they could see into the distance. From where they had come, the Serene Sea was a narrow band of shimmering gold against the setting sun. Ahead, conifer-clad slopes stretched out towards a range of black mountains that rose in the distance like blunt spearheads.
‘The Smoking Mountains,’ Urbek said. ‘Ish Rasnee Makhala.’
‘Ish Rasnee Makhala,’ Zastra repeated. They were on the right track.
‘Let’s keep going,’ she said, with an encouraging smile towards Gwylla. ‘One last push before it gets dark.’
Chapter Thirteen
Findar longed for the afternoon lesson to finish. He understood the importance of mindweaving classes, but resented being stuck inside a stuffy cabin when the sun was shining and the outdoors beckoned. The previous evening, he had climbed halfway up the big mountain until he was above the mantle of the trees. Soaring above him was a large eagle, its wing feathers the same deep blue as the ocean. Quivering with excitement, he had reached out with his mind. Communicating with seagulls was all very well, but they had a limited set of thoughts and emotions. With the blue eagle, he sensed a sharper intelligence. He had fused with her mind and the awareness of a hundred different scents had flooded his senses. The surge of the air currents beneath her wings had been intoxicating.
‘Day-dreaming again, Findar?’ He snapped back into the present to find Gildarn, their teacher, looking at him.
‘Um, sorry,’ he muttered.
‘Listen or die, my boy. It’s as simple as that. An untrained mindweaver will be no match for a black raven. Kastara, since your brother finds the simple act of listening so difficult, perhaps you can tell him what the rest of the class have just learned.’
Kastara sat up straight.
‘Planting visions is one of the easiest skills,’ she recited primly. ‘Even those with resistance can be made to see things. But it is important the image you implant is disconnected from your own thoughts and memories, or your target might see your own secrets.’
His sister was an odd mix. Outside of the class, she would do the opposite of what she was told, almost as a point of pride, but during their lessons she was the most attentive of all the trainees. To the point of being annoying, if Findar was honest.
‘Very good, Kastara. Findar, any chance you can explain how this is done? I’ll give you a clue – it’s not by daydreaming.’
‘Visualisation?’ Findar offered hopefully. It was often the right answer.
‘Lucky guess.’ Gildarn sniffed. ‘Suppose we want to scare someone? Fear can be a useful tool. How could we do it?’
Kastara’s hand shot up, as did that of Podara, an older girl with red hair and freckles. Gildarn nodded at Podara.
‘Imagine
something really frightening,’ she said smugly.
‘Example?’
‘Like the idea that Kastara could be put in charge if anything happens to Lady Zastra.’
Laughter swept around the cabin as Kastara glared at Podara. Gildarn raised an eyebrow.
‘A terrifying notion indeed. However, that type of fear is abstract and difficult to visualise. It is best to try something more solid. A hunting caralyx perhaps, or drowning. Ideally, use what your target fears most. Do not use anything that touches your own darkest fears. Another mindweaver could turn your own fear response against you. Understood?’
Everyone nodded and Gildarn asked them to divide into pairs and practise. Findar noticed a pair of sand finches chattering on the windowsill. The shutters had been opened to let in some welcome air.
‘Human! Beware! Human!’
The sand finches flew away and moments later Kylen’s brother appeared in the window frame. Findar was surprised. He hadn’t seen Zadorax for ages, ever since he’d started to decline Zastra’s invitations to dine with them. He looked pale, the dark bags under his eyes like bruises. He beckoned urgently towards Findar.
‘I need your help,’ he whispered. Findar looked around. Gildarn had his back to him, working with Podara and another trainee. He reckoned he could slip out unnoticed.
‘Where are you going?’ Kastara hissed. Trust his sister to notice him sneaking off.
‘If Gildarn asks where I am, make something up. You’re good at that.’
‘You can’t—’ Kastara began, but Fin was already through the door.
Zax took him to the cabin he shared with Kylen. The Sendoran hesitated as he reached the door.
‘Promise not to tell anyone.’
‘You can trust me, Zax.’
‘With Zastra away, I didn’t know who else to ask. I can’t let anyone see her like this.’
He eased the door ajar and they slipped through the small gap. Zax quickly closed the door behind them. Kylen was seated on the floor, red-eyed and slumped against a barrel. She started at their entrance and spiced wine splashed from the cup in her hand onto her leggings, leaving a stain like a large bruise.
Warrior of Golmeira Page 6