The next morning, the castle was bursting with rumours. Highmaster Strinverl had been spotted leaving in the middle of the night, in the company of a group of silk merchants. There had been no mistaking him, with his skeletal frame and the stiff way he rode his horse. When first Orwin and then Rastran questioned the gate guards as to why they had permitted anyone to leave, they had looked only blank. Mindweaving was suspected. A search of Strinverl’s chamber revealed he had taken his belongings with him.
‘I told you those merchants were suspicious,’ Lichinara said quickly. A scan of her mind confirmed she had remained her in chamber all night. Her husband too, was cleared. Rastran scanned him personally, alongside his half-breed cripple of a servant, who seemed to be always hanging about his master. They knew nothing. The final proof was found in the mind of a groom, who had overheard a whispered conversation as the traitors had saddled their horses.
‘Lady Zastra will reward you well for your service, highmaster.’
Strinverl was branded a defector. A white-faced Rastran packed up his retinue and headed for the safety of Golmer Castle.
Chapter Sixty-five
Brutila had ended up as Anara’s personal gaoler. The irony did not escape her. They had returned to Golmer Castle to find Rastran and Highmaster Strinverl absent and Lady Jintara in charge. Rastran’s mother refused to set eyes on her rival and ordered Anara be taken immediately to the dankest, gloomiest cell in the dungeons. As for Brutila, nobody knew quite what to do with her. She had assisted in Anara’s capture, but her exile hadn’t been officially rescinded. With no official position, she had the option of wandering about the castle to be stared at, or stay confined to her allotted chamber. Neither option was appealing and she found herself drawn to the dungeons. Jintara had given no orders regarding Anara’s welfare, seemingly happy to leave her to rot. Brutila brought hot food from the kitchens and refilled the water barrel. She even arranged for a mattress, so Anara didn’t have to sleep on the stone floor. Her prisoner thanked Brutila as if she was being kind, instead of simply repaying an obligation. Zastra’s mother had taken to her new prison with the same calm acceptance she had shown during her banishment to the Northern Wastes. Brutila couldn’t understand it. How could she be wrenched away from her family and placed in the power of someone like Rastran and yet show neither fear nor anger? It wasn’t that Anara lacked emotions. Brutila had seen her delight in spending time with Findar and Kastara, and noted the hurt, only partly disguised, caused by Zastra’s indifference. It was simply Anara’s way to repay any affront with fortitude and kindness. She soon had the prison guards running after her, bringing her blankets and refilling her jula lamp, although she never asked for such consideration. Brutila soon put a stop to these attentions. Anara was her responsibility, and hers alone. After a stern word with the captain of the guards to that point, Brutila brought her prisoner a plate of freshly cut bread, sliced cheese and a bottle of spiced wine.
‘Brutila, you are always so kind to me,’ Anara greeted her. ‘I see you’ve brought two mugs. You will join me, I hope?’
The second mug had been intended to replace the dirty one by the water barrel, but Anara patted the mattress next to her, inviting Brutila to sit by her. Why not? It wasn’t as if Brutila had anything better to do with her time. She perched on the edge of the mattress and poured out the wine.
‘I wish you’d tell me about your father,’ Anara said, after waiting in vain for Brutila to speak.
‘Why do you want to hear about him?’
‘It might help you to talk about what happened.’
‘He was an abusive flekk and I killed him for it,’ Brutila said bluntly. To her surprise, even this stark confession relieved something inside her. She found herself relating her father’s cruelty. He had taken Brutila away from her mother before she even knew her, refusing to answer any of her questions when she grew old enough to ask. Every day ended in a beating, no matter how hard she tried to please him, and so she soon stopped trying. Powerless at home, Brutila had started to bully her schoolmates.
‘You needed to feel in control of something,’ Anara said. ‘Don’t you see? All this bad inside you comes from your father.’
‘Only weak-minded fools blame others for their troubles,’ Brutila responded. ‘I am what I am.’
‘And this? How did you get it?’ Anara reached up and touched her cheek. Brutila shivered. It was strange to feel someone else’s fingers on her skin, brushing gently against the rough ridge of scar tissue. It took a moment to get her voice muscles to work.
‘I was sixteen. There was a girl. A thief, as it happens. I caught her trying to lift my purse. I beat her for it, of course. She didn’t flinch or cry out. The way she took my beating, I sensed she was used to such treatment. Like me. I looked inside her mind and saw that I was right. Saw too that she had a plan to escape.’
‘You went with her?’
‘Father caught us. He made sure no one ever wanted to run away with me again.’
Anara rested her hand on Brutila’s.
‘You have it in you to choose. You had compassion for that poor girl. Embrace your good feelings and you can overcome this evil inside you.’
Brutila broke away. She would not let Anara wheedle her way inside her skin.
‘Rastran will be returning soon,’ she said, rising. ‘I wouldn’t care to be you when he gets here.’
She slammed the door behind her with a satisfying clang, but as she exited the dungeon she knew that she dreaded Rastran’s return. What really alarmed her was that she didn’t know if she was more concerned for her own fate or for that of her prisoner.
Chapter Sixty-six
The Northern Wastes had been emptied. Jelgar brought every warrior he had to Sendor and Lungrid led her hunters, insisting the future of all Kyrgs depended on Zastra’s promise. An avalanche had blocked off the pass between the Guardians only a few days after they had made it through. They met up with Kylen. Kricklend wasn’t big enough to house everyone, so the Kyrgs made camp outside its walls.
‘What happened to you?’ Kylen examined Zastra intently. ‘Your face is as red as a Kyrg’s and you look like a good sneeze would knock you over.’
Zastra fingered her cheeks. The icy winds at the top of the Warrior Mountain had scoured her skin, leaving it raw and peeling.
‘I can always rely on you for the brutal truth,’ she remarked.
‘You should see her toes,’ Kastara added. ‘The Kyrg healer said she was lucky she hadn’t lost half of them.’
‘I’m fine,’ Zastra snapped, although when she walked it still felt as if her boots were filled with shards of glass. With the rush to get through the pass, there had been no time to recover from her ordeal on the Warrior Mountain. She had barely had time for a quick wash before they were on the march. For the first few days, she was unable to keep up, and had been forced to submit to the indignity of being dragged along on a sled.
‘What have you been up to this time?’ Kylen asked with a shake of her head.
‘Short version; I have a lovely new tattoo,’ Zastra said. ‘I’ll tell you the rest later.’
Kylen took them to the spacious mansion she had commandeered as her headquarters. Servants brought in bowls of steaming halsa paste, shavings of dried meat sprinkled on top to give it flavour. There was only water to wash it down.
‘Make the most of it – it’s the last we have,’ Kylen said. ‘You arrived just in time. My scouts tell me Ixendred will be here tomorrow.’ She reached out to Zastra, her eyes glowing. ‘You did it, Zastra. You delivered on your promise. We will finally free Sendor.’
Zastra nodded silently and the twins just stared at their bowls.
‘What’s wrong? You all look as miserable as a Kyrg who’s lost his scythals.’
Zastra told her what had happened to Anara.
‘It’s all my fault,’ said Kastara, flinging down her spoon. ‘I should have protected her.’
‘It’s no one’s fault but Rastran’s,’ said
Zastra. ‘You were protecting the settlement. You couldn’t have known what Fester and Florian were after.’
‘You would have stopped them, Zastra. You would have thought of something.’
‘I’ve hardly got a perfect record when it comes to protecting those I love. I let Brutila capture Findar, remember. And I left you behind for all those years.’
‘So, you do love me?’ Kastara asked in a small voice. ‘It’s been hard to tell, sometimes.’
Zastra went behind her sister’s chair and placed her hands on her shoulders. Then she leaned over and kissed the top of Kastara’s head.
‘You’re clever and talented, and don’t let anything stand in your way. And you’re my sister. Of course I love you.’
‘I’m also disobedient and tactless,’ said Kastara, with a sigh.
‘If lack of tact was a problem, I’d hardly be friends with Kylen, would I?’ Zastra leant over Kastara from behind so their cheeks pressed together. ‘I’m sorry I’ve so been distant. It’s just… so many people I’ve loved have ended up dead. I hope you never have to experience such hurt. What happened at Uden’s Teeth, losing Dobery and the others, it almost broke me, and I can’t afford to be broken. It seemed safer not to allow myself to feel.’
‘That’s why you were so odd with our mother?’
Zastra bowed her head.
‘Seeing her stirred so many emotions inside me, so many memories. I couldn’t face it. I just hope she’ll understand.’
‘We’ll get her back,’ Kylen said. ‘My word on it.’
Their eyes met. Zastra knew the value of that promise. Her heart swelled with something deeper than gratitude.
‘One thing at a time,’ she said. ‘First, we take back your country.’
Kylen’s scouts had been correct. The next day, Ixendred arrived with his army. More than twenty thousand strong, it spread out before Kricklend in a series of perfect squares. The centre was made up of Golmeirans and mindweavers, all wearing black. Flanking the Golmeirans, divided equally on each side, were thousands of Kyrginite mercenaries. The organisation was impressive. Jelgar and Kylen had arrayed their forces in a narrow line in front of the town walls. Zastra looked down on them from above the gates. Kastara and Findar were down there somewhere, with Jelgar and his guthans. They had precise instructions. She ordered Ithgol to raise a purple flag crossed with white. The sign of parlay. Ixendred raised a matching flag, signalling he accepted. Ancient tradition specified that no attack would be launched during parlay as well as guaranteeing the safety of any envoys.
The Golmeiran master at arms had positioned himself on a rocky outcrop above the eastern flank of the two armies. An excellent vantage point, Zastra noted, as she and Kylen rode up on fellgryffs. Once again, she was forced into reluctant admiration.
‘Have you come to surrender?’ Ixendred asked as they dismounted. Despite his long march north, his uniform was immaculate.
‘I was about to ask you the same,’ Zastra returned.
‘You are outnumbered,’ Ixendred waved his arm towards the two armies. It was true. Ixendred’s was almost twice the size. Each grid held aloft Thorlberd’s green gecko pennant.
‘Interesting that you still carry Thorlberd’s insignia,’ Zastra remarked.
‘We’ve been too busy to be sewing.’
‘Ah, but we haven’t,’ said Kylen. ‘Look again.’
The Kyrginite grids flanking the Golmeiran army shivered and the gecko standards plunged to the ground. Each raised a new pennant carrying the eagle insignia of Zastra’s house. The Kyrgs turned inward to face the Golmeirans, who were now completely outflanked. Ixendred went pale.
‘How did you do that?’ he spluttered.
‘We informed the Kyrgs of the true nature of Thorlberd’s deal,’ said Zastra. ‘That his alliance was a sham, forced upon them by mindweavers’ tricks. Kyrginite obedience is like their scythals. Double edged.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You and your officers will surrender to me, as will your mindweavers. You will be taken under guard to Finistron. Once we have taken back Golmeira, we can talk about amnesty. Your soldiers will be given a choice. Join us, or give up their arms and return home.’
‘They will never agree to such terms.’
‘Are you really so certain of the loyalty of soldiers conscripted against their will?’
Ixendred hesitated.
‘How do I know you won’t slaughter them as soon as they lay down arms?’ He looked at Kylen. ‘The Sendorans will be eager for revenge.’
‘Such concern for life is surprising from a man who serves Grand Marl Rastran,’ Kylen remarked. Ixendred’s jaw muscles clenched. He has no love for Rastran, thought Zastra.
‘I am a soldier. I do my duty.’
‘Then do it now,’ urged Zastra. ‘I have as good a claim to your allegiance as anyone else.’
‘My sworn duty is to my grand marl.’
‘Your duty is to Golmeira and to the soldiers under your command. Do you think either are well served with Rastran as grand marl?’
Ixendred’s shoulders dropped. He turned towards his generals. After only a small amount of discussion, they agreed to Zastra’s terms. Sendor was theirs without a drop of blood being spilt.
As the prisoners departed for Finistron, escorted by pure-blood Sendorans, a large wagon train appeared from the south, led by Morvain and Drazan. They had found many in Southland who had opposed Thorlberd’s tyranny and refused to be ruled by his son. The wagons carried grain and hay. Morvain swelled with pride as Zastra thanked him. Later that day Gildarn, Nerika and Myka joined them, bringing Marl Orwin’s welcome promise of resupply. With a cry of delight Kastara rushed towards Myka and gave him a hug. He seemed embarrassed but not displeased by her welcome.
Nerika informed them of Gildarn’s treachery. Myka pleaded for mercy, explaining how Strinverl had tricked Gildarn, but Zastra ordered him placed under guard and sent to join the caravan of prisoners heading for Finistron. He had been responsible for the deaths of Orika and Dobery and many others at Uden’s Teeth. Such treachery could not go unpunished. To Zastra’s surprise, Nerika supported her decision. There was a first time for everything. On that happy omen, Zastra gave the order to break camp. It was time to march on Golmeira.
Chapter Sixty-seven
Brutila had so few friends at Golmer Castle that she only found out the grand marl had returned by sneaking a peek into the mind of one of the kitchen hands at breakfast. Rastran had arrived during the night. Brutila was surprised not to have heard anything. Rastran must have eschewed his usual pomp and ceremony. She took a bowl of hot porridge and headed down into the dungeons. The door to Anara’s cell was ajar. Inside was Rastran, flanked by Fester and Florian. The grand marl’s velvet tunic was rumpled and a dark shadow on his chin indicated he hadn’t shaved. Anara looked small and frail as she stood before them. They all turned their heads as Brutila entered.
‘Brutila, are you well? I have been concerned,’ said Anara.
Brutila looked around the damp, cold cell. The water barrel was empty and there was the unmistakeable whiff of a full chamber pot. After the strange discomfort she had felt during her last visit, she had stayed away, and it appeared that no one had tended to the prisoner in her absence. Brutila felt a pang of something that she struggled to identify. Could it be guilt? She had forbidden anyone else to provide for Anara. Yet she detected no censure or anger in Anara’s expression.
‘You were concerned about me?’ Rastran mistook her surprise for sarcasm.
‘Quite right, Brutila,’ he said sardonically. ‘She should be more worried about her own situation.’
‘That smells good,’ Fester said, eyeing the steaming porridge.
‘It’s not for you,’ said Brutila, handing it to Anara.
‘Thank you,’ Anara said quietly. She set the bowl aside, even though Brutila suspected she had not eaten in days. Rastran kicked the bowl away with the side of his boot. It smashed against the wall. Porridge splat
tered across the stone.
‘I am not in the mood for niceties,’ he said. ‘My highmaster has betrayed me and half my marls are disloyal.’ He placed a gloved hand round Anara’s slender neck. She did not flinch.
‘You stand there as if you were still a grand marl’s consort, but you are not royalty. Everyone knows you were a commoner before Leodra took you for his wife.’
Anara stayed impassive as Rastran’s fingers tightened around her throat.
‘You hoodwinked my father too, didn’t you? Made a precious fool of him. Only one way to deal with upstarts like you.’ He pressed his thumb against Anara’s windpipe, but then paused theatrically. ‘Perhaps you would like to plead for your life. I might let you live another day if you beg hard enough.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Anara. Brutila coughed.
‘Grand marl, your journey must have wearied you. You are not thinking as clearly as usual.’
Rastran snapped his head round.
‘Surely you aren’t suggesting mercy, Brutila? You hate this wretched family as much as I do.’
‘My lord, think of the trouble you took to capture her – would you waste it on a momentary pleasure? Anara is only useful as bait. For that, she must be alive.’
Rastran closed his eyes for a moment, then stepped back and smoothed down his velvet tunic.
‘You are right. There is something to be said for pleasure deferred. But I won’t have her looking down her nose like that.’
He turned to Florian.
‘Cut off her hair and put her into rags. Everyone who sees her will know her for the commoner scum she is.’
Brutila watched as a knife danced through the air, hacking away at Anara’s long hair. Florian may be a master with metal, but he was no hairdresser. When he had finished, Anara looked like a newly fledged hatchling, uneven tufts of hair sticking up next to patches that were almost bald. With so little hair, Anara’s cheekbones stood out in sharp relief. Yet she stood uncomplaining through the whole humiliating process. A servant brought in a coarse smock, frayed at the hems. Fester began to paw at Anara’s clothes.
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