‘I don’t know…’ Zastra protested.
‘I’ll not take the three of you,’ said Hedrik, harshly. ‘It’ll be too obvious. A young lad and a littlun – we might just get away with it, as long as you do exactly as I say. This is my only offer. And it’s only as a favour to you Bodel, for what you’ve done for my littluns. I’ll be setting off in a few hours, so you best be getting her ready. I’ll rustle up some likely clothes for the girl and be back within the hour. You best bury all them fancy clothes – you’ll have something for the babies, no doubt?’
Bodel nodded and Hedrik departed. Bodel set about making preparations. First, she cut Zastra’s hair; an untidy, close cut that removed her wavy curls and disguised its natural chestnut colour. As Zastra sat wrapped in a blanket, Bodel buried her clothes and everything else she had brought, even the baby harness which had the crest of Leodra on it.
‘You must take nothing that marks you out as having come from the castle,’ she explained. ‘Here is a bag with some provisions – not much, but all I can spare. I’ve put in some fruit for Findar and he should manage some bread if you soften it with water first.’
Bodel dressed Kastara in the clothes worn by poor little deceased Joril and held her up in satisfaction. ‘They look similar enough. No one will know the difference except Dalka, and I’ll deal with her when the time comes.’
She was finishing packing when Hedrik returned with a bundle under one arm.
‘We must leave now,’ he said tersely. ‘They are starting to search every house in the village. Quick child, put these on. And make yourself look dirty – remember you’re a farm boy now, not royalty.’
Zastra put on the trousers and shirt and some rather ill-fitting boots, one of which had a hole in the toe.
‘Right, you take the bag, I’ll take the boy,’ ordered Hedrik, and with practised movements he made a sling for Findar so he could carry him across his chest. ‘That’s it, we must go.’
As Zastra went over to Kastara, he snapped, ‘There’s no time for goodbyes.’
‘I’ll come back for you, I promise,’ whispered Zastra to her little sister. Casting a forlorn look back at Bodel, she followed Hedrik through the kitchen door.
Keeping a wary eye out for soldiers, they skirted the hedgerows at the back of the village and made for the nearest cover, an extension of Highcastle Forest. Zastra waited for a shout to tell them they had been seen, but none came, and they finally reached the outskirts of the forest, breathing heavily. They paused to look back, but no one had followed them.
‘Come then, lad,’ said Hedrik, brusquely. ‘Try not to talk if we meet anyone. I’ll tell them you’re dumb if I have to.’
They strode along in awkward silence. Zastra felt misgivings at every step which took her further away from Kastara and further into the unknown.
Chapter Twenty-One
They travelled through the forest for several hours. Fortunately, they met no one. Only once did they hear the distant beating of wings that signalled the passage of a flying creature. They ducked off the path and hid under cover of the trees until it had gone.
Hedrik spat as it headed off into the distance. ‘Unnatural beast,’ he muttered.
Evening closed in and they set up camp. Hedrik lit the fire by scraping his knife along a metallic fire-ring, generating a shower of sparks. In spite of herself, Zastra was fascinated. ‘The ring contains a portion of firedust and that gives the sparks,’ explained Hedrik briefly. Bodel had packed some bread and cured meats, and Hedrik cut some and offered some to Zastra.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she muttered.
‘Eat,’ he ordered, holding the bread under her chin until she took it. Zastra was not used to being spoken to in this way, but she was too weary to argue. As she forced the food down, she realised how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since the party, the previous evening. She fed Findar some of the fruit. He burbled quietly and went to sleep.
‘Get some sleep now, we’ll be up at dawn,’ said Hedrik, wrapping himself in a thin blanket and turning away. Zastra lay staring at the stars until extreme weariness overtook her and she fell asleep.
She was awoken the next day by the sound of Findar bawling. It was only half light.
‘Make the porridge while I change the boy,’ ordered Hedrik, taking Findar down to the nearby stream. Zastra was still sitting wrapped in her blanket when they returned.
‘What? Are you too prissy and proud to light a fire and make porridge?’ asked Hedrik.
‘I don’t know how,’ muttered Zastra, sulkily. He shook his head, but showed her how to clear some ground, set the twigs and make shavings for kindling, and then how to use the fire-ring to make sparks. Soon they had a decent little fire. Next, he showed her how to mix the oats and water and heat them until soft.
‘Porridge is good food for trekking. Oats is light to carry but fill the stomach. All you need is water and a fire. The littlun’ll eat it too – here, add a bit of sugar, he’ll be fine. Just let it cool a bit first.’
They ate the porridge in silence. Hedrik cleaned the pots and packed up camp, stamping out the fire. ‘Never leave a fire alight, especially in a forest,’ he said.
Zastra hoisted the bag onto her back and they set off. She was sore and had blisters on the soles of her feet from yesterday’s trek in the ill-fitting boots but her pride kept her from complaining and she limped along as well as she could. Even carrying Findar, Hedrik easily outstripped Zastra, and every so often he waited impatiently for her to catch up. In this manner they continued, throughout the day, stopping only occasionally to rest. The woods were strangely quiet and they met no one throughout the whole day. To Zastra, the hours become lost in a blur of trees and pain, as her blisters became increasingly sore. Eventually, as the sun was setting, Hedrik found a thin stream and set up camp. With relief, Zastra removed her boots and bathed her feet in the cool water of the stream.
‘Don’t just sit there, your brother needs changing,’ said Hedrik. With a sigh, Zastra obeyed, changing Findar’s undergarments and then washing the dirtied linen in the stream. Even then, she needed Hedrik to show her what to do, as she had never had to change the babies herself. At the castle there had been nurses and servants to do all that. She felt Hedrik’s scorn. He lit a fire and heated some sugared water for the baby, while he and Zastra ate a little bread and meat. Findar was awake now, and Zastra watched as he investigated various twigs and seed cones with profound fascination. It brought back memories of playing with the twins in the castle and she had to push back on her emotions to hold them in check. Hedrik stared silently at the sky and she had no intention of making conversation with him. The fire died down and they slept.
Again Zastra awoke, cold and stiff, to the sound of Findar crying for food. It was still dark and she tried to comfort him until it become light enough for her to see. She set the fire as she had been shown, and had started the pot boiling as Hedrik awoke. He busied himself with something while she made a passable attempt at porridge, only intervening to whip the pan away from the fire when it threatened to burn. They ate in silence, Findar happily slurping down the porridge. Zastra took the pots and washed them in the cold stream and returned to get ready. Sighing, she took up the dreaded boots, ready to put them on even though her blisters were still raw.
‘Wait,’ said Hedrik, handing her some bits of material that he had been working on. ‘Line the boots with these, they may be more comfortable.’ Zastra did as he suggested. She could still feel the blisters but they no longer grated with severe pain as she walked and she made better progress. She sensed Hedrik had slowed his pace slightly and no longer roamed ahead, for which she was grateful. Around noon, they came to the edge of the forest. A lush green landscape of rolling hills lay before them. They stopped for a brief rest and something to eat.
‘Now we’re out the forest, we’re bound to meet people. Just keep your head down and say nothing,’ said Hedrik tersely. ‘We must try and go faster if we are to make it to Trindhome by tomorr
ow evening. Are you ready?’
Zastra nodded, quickly finishing her hunk of bread and they set off. It was hot now that they were out of the shade of the forest. Hedrik kept Findar covered in his sling and the boy slept. They met a few people on the way, mainly farmers and goatherds, but attracted little attention. Everyone seemed preoccupied with their own business. Late afternoon they arrived, hot and sweaty, on the brow of a small hill. It overlooked a hamlet which straddled a fast-flowing river.
‘Wrylford,’ observed Hedrik. ‘We’ll have to go down, as it’s the only river crossing within five leagues. I can see some soldiers, there on the bridge – do you see?’ He pointed and Zastra made out four figures in dark uniforms on the approach to the bridge. She shrank back. Hedrik looked at her.
‘Come, we must go. Follow my lead. Remember, you’re a farm boy. It’s my neck as well as yours if they suspect anything.’
Zastra paused, unsure, a knot of fear binding her to the spot. Hedrik sighed, but waited for her to speak.
‘The last time I saw those uniforms…’ she whispered, trying to explain, but even her voice gave way as her throat dried out. She was shaking.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Hedrik, patting her shoulder in encouragement. ‘Come, the sooner we go, the sooner it’s over.’
He strode off down the hill. Zastra hovered, undecided for a moment, but Findar’s cry wafted up to her and that made up her mind. She ran down after them. They entered the town and made their way towards the bridge. Her heart was fluttering, but she forced herself to move one foot in front of the other. There were several groups of soldiers around the village, searching the homes and manhandling the villagers. Some of the soldiers were strange looking men indeed: short and stocky, with coarse, straggly hair, their beardless faces lacked noses, having simply a pair of flattened nostrils embedded in red, peeling skin. Zastra shrank back, trying hard not to stare.
‘Kyrg savages,’ muttered Hedrik under his breath. Zastra’s eyes widened. So these were the Kyrginites of legend. What were they doing wearing Thorlberd’s Bractarian uniforms? As they reached the bridge, they were halted by two of the Kyrginites.
‘State your name and business,’ the taller Kyrginite said in a gruff, rasping voice.
‘Hedrik of Trindhome, with my cousin’s boy and my son. I’m returning home.’
‘Where have you been and why?’
‘To Frestfall,’ replied Hedrik evenly, naming a town twelve leagues south of Highcastle village. ‘I went to see the healer there, who has an ointment to treat the scar-rash. My wife is ill and needs this medicine.’
The other Kyrginite pawed at the sling containing Findar and Zastra bridled. Hedrik laid a warning hand on her shoulder.
‘Let’s look at the baby. Open your packs.’
‘What reason do you have to search us?’ asked Hedrik mildly.
‘We have orders to search everyone. Now do as I say, unless you want to feel my metal.’
‘We’ve nothing to hide,’ said Hedrik, shrugging his shoulders. He held out Findar to be examined.
‘You, boy – open the bag.’
Zastra unslung the bag and opened it. The soldier rummaged around, taking the cured meat and setting it aside.
‘That’ll make a nice meal,’ he said, smacking his dry lips together.
‘Hey!’ protested Zastra, and then stopped her voice as the guard looked sharply at her.
‘Let’s look at you boy,’ he said, reaching out to lift her chin. Just then a loud cry came from a nearby dwelling. They all turned to see three soldiers dragging a young girl out of the house. Another soldier came out, holding two howling babies. They were followed by an older woman, who was screaming and hitting out at the guards.
The two Kyrginites guards from the bridge went over to join the affray, pulling the woman off the other soldiers and throwing her roughly to the ground.
‘Let’s look at them all. Especially the babies,’ ordered the tall Kyrginite guard. ‘If they are who we seek, we shall soon know.’
Hedrik grabbed Zastra by the hand and led her over the bridge away from the fracas. She wanted to run away as fast as possible. As if sensing her mood, Hedrik gripped her hand tighter.
‘Walk,’ he commanded, softly yet firmly. She forced herself to obey. Behind her the woman was still screaming. Every second she expected them to be called back. It took an age for them to reach the end of the village. A number of Bractarian soldiers ran past them, attracted by the fuss, and they were able to leave the village unmolested. As they passed over the brow of the hill and out of view of the bridge, Hedrik quickened his pace. Zastra needed no urging to keep up. As soon as the village was out of sight completely, he cut off the road. They climbed up a dried out culvert until they reached the top of a long ridge. In spite of Zastra’s now laboured breathing, Hedrik forced them along the ridge at a fast pace until they had left the valley and Wrylford far behind them. It was dark before they stopped.
‘We’ll make no fire tonight,’ he said, ‘there are too many soldiers around and not enough cover to hide the fire. There are no streams in this area – we’ll have to make do with the water in our flasks.’
Zastra was hot and thirsty, but following Hedrik’s lead drank only sparingly from her water carrier. She wetted some bread for Findar, who twisted his head away in disgust, but eventually was persuaded to eat a few mouthfuls.
‘We were lucky,’ stated Hedrik. ‘I told you to say nothing.’ Zastra lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Hedrik scratched his chin.
‘You must swallow your pride and try to become invisible,’ he explained. ‘Practice saying a few words in the way of a country boy. Your accent gives you away. Never, ever, answer them back – you see what happens.’
Zastra nodded, and she resolved to practice mimicking Hedrik’s dialect.
‘Were those really Kyrginites?’ she asked.
‘Aye,’ spat Hedrik. ‘For years upon years they have come down into the Helgarth Mountains, taking all the food and leaving whole villages to starve. They’re savage and deadly fighters, so I’ve heard, and there are rumours that their hunger is not always satisfied by stealing alone. Thorlberd must have paid them to join his army. He’d best be careful, allying himself with such savages. I wouldn’t trust them.’
Zastra recalled the tale of Fostran’s fight with Kyrgs. Now she had seen them, she was even more in awe of the famous warrior.
‘They said they would know if they found who they were looking for. How could they know?’ she asked, more to herself than Hedrik.
‘Perhaps you or the babies have a birthmark?’ he suggested. ‘Your uncle would know of it maybe?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ mused Zastra. ‘Oh, but wait, I do have a scar on my thigh from when I fell off my horse. I was only small at the time. It kicked me and left a mark. But my uncle wouldn’t know – he wasn’t there.’
‘By now your uncle probably knows everything that anyone at Golmer Castle knew,’ stated Hedrik.
‘How could he?’ Zastra began to ask, but stopped, as she recalled that her uncle was a mindweaver. He could rip the thoughts out of anyone if he chose to.
‘You must avoid attracting their attention,’ Hedrik said. It’s lucky we didn’t have the other baby, else it would’ve gone badly for us. As long as they’ve no reason to suspect you, you’ll be safe. But if you give them a reason to look more closely, then we are in trouble.’
Zastra was only half listening. Her mind was back at the castle, visions rising unwanted in her mind and she turned away, wrapped in her own thoughts. Hedrik said no more.
The next morning they again rose early, making a small breakfast of their remaining bread before they set off.
‘We should reach Trindhome by nightfall,’ said Hedrik. ‘That’s if you can stay out of trouble and we keep up a good pace.’
‘Aye,’ said Zastra, in her best attempt at a country voice. The barest twitch of a smile flicked the corner of Hedrik’s mouth. They left the ridge by mid
-morning and entered another area of woodland. Every now and then Hedrik stopped to show her some nuts which were edible and instructed her how to shell them. He warned her off eating the berries as he said they were mostly poisonous. As they neared Trindhome they met people with greater frequency. Hedrik nodded politely while Zastra looked at the ground and practiced making herself invisible. Just before dusk, the path led them into the large village of Trindhome, which sprawled out on either side of a main highway. Zastra was relieved to see there were no soldiers. Hedrik led them to his house, a small, well-tended dwelling on the outer edge of the village. Zastra guessed that the entire house would have fitted into her bedchamber in the castle. A light was on, and as they entered two young boys cried out in excitement and rushed to grab their father by the legs. Zastra followed him, feeling awkward and out of place. The warmth of Hedrik’s greeting to his boys made her throat catch with emotion. A pale woman was seated on a cushioned chair, wrapped in a blanket despite the warm mugginess of the evening. Hedrik went to her and kissed her gently. The woman looked inquiringly at Zastra and then at Findar, asleep in the sling on her husband’s chest.
‘I’m doing a favour for Bodel. The boys needed my help and I promised to deliver them safely here.’
Turning to Zastra, he nodded towards a door and said, ‘The kitchen is through there, lad. Sort yourselves out with something to eat. I need to talk to my family.’
Zastra went through to the kitchen, which was neat and tidy like the rest of the house. She could hear a murmuring of voices from the other room, interspersed with the high pitched cries of the little boys. The woman had a pleading tone which was periodically interrupted by the quiet voice of Hedrik. When Zastra had fed Findar with some milk and bread and found some bread and cheese for herself, Hedrik came into the kitchen carrying a threadbare blanket and a pillow.
Realm of Mindweavers: Book one: Tales of Golmeira Page 11