by Duncan Lay
‘Forbidden fruit, you mean?’ Louise wondered. ‘Because you should not go near him, the attraction is all the greater?’
‘Exactly!’ Merren nodded. ‘We are so different—not just our backgrounds but our upbringing, everything. We can talk together, we can laugh together—now. He is a good man in a crisis but what would he be like in peacetime? Would we find ourselves fighting when there is no common enemy to face?’
‘That, Merren, is a question only you can answer,’ Louise sighed.
Another awkward silence descended. Meaningless platitudes rose to Merren’s lips but, while she managed to stop herself saying them, she could not drop her guard, could not relax and be herself.
‘My Queen!’ Conal called through the door into the quiet. ‘The Berellian invasion has begun!’
Merren jumped, both horrified and relieved at the interruption. ‘Warn the dragon. I want to go down there myself. I must know what is happening!’ she ordered. Then she paused and looked at the two women. ‘Thank you. Perhaps we can try this again,’ she said softly, before striding towards the door.
4
Barrett was looking forward to getting back to the capital. But, for the first time, not because he wanted to see Merren. Instead he was looking forward to seeing Tiera. Working with her was the only thing that seemed to stop the bitterness that threatened to overwhelm him. At every turn he had been humiliated, ridiculed, his contribution to the Queen’s cause belittled, his talents overlooked. His secret love for Merren had been mocked, then trampled on as she slept with that Ralloran bastard. Now they were having a child. It was too much!
Then there was the way in which they seemed to take him for granted. He had defeated the Berellian’s finest mage. Yet everyone merely wanted to talk about Martil’s lucky blow against the Berellian who had been about to kill him.
Sometimes he felt he would only be truly appreciated if he left Merren’s service. Then, perhaps, they would see just what he had given them. Without him, they would have been defeated a dozen times over. And here he was, stuck among the Derthals, while Merren flew on a dragon with that bloody Ralloran oaf!
There was a temptation to go elsewhere, to make them come to him, beg him for his help, admit just what he had done for them. He daydreamed about a tearful Merren apologising to him, only to have that replaced by another face. Tiera…he knew he had promised never to touch her, to treat her only as a pupil, nothing more, but the more time he spent with her, the harder that became. She seemed to wipe the anger from his heart.
So he was eager to be back with her, talk with her. He had set out with High Chief Sacrax, Quiller and the rest of the Derthals on the march south. This high above sea level there were far fewer trees, and many of these were evergreens, so it was a full day of marching before they arrived at an oak tree he could use to get back.
‘Good luck! I shall see you at the passes,’ Quiller farewelled him.
‘Do you have any messages for the Queen?’ Barrett forced himself to ask.
‘Only that we shall be there soon—I am glad I’ll have the use of all your horses, because I’d never keep up with these Derthals otherwise!’ the old priest chuckled.
Barrett smiled. The Derthals had set a tremendous pace, and they had to trot the horses at times, just to keep up. None of the Derthals looked tired, instead they looked as though they could just keep going. And more were joining all the time—bands of warriors clad in deerskin or goatskin, with headbands of feathers, of fur, carrying two or three of those wicked spears and bags of food. They saluted Sacrax, then joined the mass of marching warriors. The High Chief looked truly cheerful. He was carrying his massive mace of office over one shoulder and setting the pace, his chosen warriors around him.
‘We shall see you soon,’ Barrett agreed.
Then, with Jaret and Wilsen, he stepped into the oak tree and vanished.
Merren wanted to see the south, wanted to see what was happening. Receiving reports was all very well but she had to feel what was going on in her country. Normally she would have had to exhaust Barrett in order to do this. But now they had Argurium.
She had spoken easily enough about persuading the dragon to help, although she had been a little nervous. She had worried that the dragon or Havell would complain about the cost in magic of such flights. But they had both proved relatively easy to convince.
‘Many of my kin think we should remain above all conflict, that we should be concerned only with the survival of the magic,’ Argurium had said. ‘We have lived for thousands of years, seen many wars, constant conflict. It is in the nature of you humans to war on each other. Kingdoms and empires rise, then fall over the centuries. Life goes on, the circle turns and new kingdoms and empires spring up. Only magic endures. But we have an agreement to help you, in exchange for the Dragon Sword wielder. So the faster you win, the better for us.’
‘Yet our help only goes so far,’ Havell warned. ‘If you lose, we shall take Martil and leave. The magic must be reborn. Nothing else is as important. Others will have to defeat the Fearpriests if you cannot—there is no-one else to bring about the rebirth of the dragons.’
‘But we shall not leave until the last moment. And, hopefully, our help will mean that will not have to come about,’ Argurium added gently.
Havell nodded agreement, before adding sadly that there would be much magic returned to the circle in the next few weeks, so the cost of dragon flight would not be felt as deeply.
Merren had been happy to secure their help, although the thought they were already planning for defeat—and were already predicting that many would die—had sent a chill down her spine. But she had tried to put thoughts of death and defeat out of her mind as they circled around the southern border.
She had collected Martil from where he had been leading the Rallorans in a careful retreat away from the border, much to the delight of Karia. Merren had been pleased to hear a Berellian raid had been destroyed and a village saved, although concerned for the second village that had left with Kesbury and whose fate was unknown. Martil had reported carefully but stiffly, and she could feel the atmosphere between them. But she did not have time to deal with it.
Black-clad Berellians, looking like a dark stain, were spreading across the border and deep into southern Norstalos. Already clouds of smoke rose into the air as the closest homes to the border were burned.
‘Are there still farmers left behind?’
‘There’re a few. Mainly ones that traded with those two villages who caused Nerrin so much trouble. We decided that there was just no way we could protect them—it would cost us too much,’ Martil said absently.
He had been delighted to see both Karia and Merren, less so for Argurium and Havell, as he expected another lecture. He was also relieved he would not have to deal with more ungrateful villagers, having sent them ahead on the captured Berellian horses. They had abused and ignored his Rallorans and their warnings—now they complained when they were saved! A part of him could recognise the grief, terror and uncertainty the villagers were facing but he still felt they could be a little more grateful. As far as he was concerned, his Rallorans should just pull back over the River Brack and leave them to their fate…
‘Show me one,’ Merren commanded, interrupting his grim thoughts.
Martil pointed to where more smoke rose into the sky to their west. ‘It is probably too late for them,’ he warned. ‘And I don’t want Karia to see…’
‘That was an order, not a suggestion,’ Merren told him.
Martil clenched his jaw, then signalled to Havell. ‘Take us over there.’
Argurium banked sharply, a manoeuvre that would have left Martil’s stomach churning had it not been done with magic, and they flashed across the countryside, over wood and past hill, until they came across a farm in a small valley. Neat rows of crops and fenced fields of animals showed this was a fertile place to farm—but it wasn’t peaceful. Not any more. The neat house was ablaze, its thatched roof sending a pall of smoke s
kywards. Lying outside it were several bodies, men, women and children.
‘Probably two families. Don’t go down too close,’ Martil ordered Havell. From bitter experience, he knew none of them would have died easily. He held Karia, partly because he did not want her to look down, partly because he wanted to hold her close.
Merren sat there, staring at the broken bodies of the men, the small bodies of the children and the naked bodies of the women.
‘They were warned, many times,’ Martil said gruffly.
‘And yet I failed them,’ she said softly. ‘It was by my decision that they died. A small evil to prevent a greater evil.’
‘It was none of your doing—it was the Berellians, and Gello!’ Martil protested.
‘But it was my choice to order families from their homes rather than stay and protect my own country from invaders. Find me another,’ Merren sighed.
‘I don’t know that—’
‘Find me another!’ Merren snapped.
‘The road goes that way.’ Martil pointed out a deeply rutted cart track heading northeast.
Argurium swooped away, and moments later, they were over another farm. Like the other one, this was well tended and prosperous. Unlike the other, it was not ablaze. Here, the Berellians were dragging women and children out of the main house.
‘Take us down there now!’ Merren screamed.
‘To do what?’ Havell asked.
‘To stop them! I don’t care if I have to do it myself, I will not sit here and watch people die. Besides, the Berellians will probably run once they see the dragon.’
Martil twisted around in his seat to face her. ‘Merren, we can’t risk it. We can’t risk you, not for the sake of a couple of farmers…’
But Merren was not listening to him. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she yelled at the Elfaran. ‘Get down there now or so help me I’ll throw you off this dragon!’
Havell glanced at her and gulped.
Martil was about to make his protest louder, when Argurium went into a steep dive. He hung on for grim death, even though he knew by now that the dragon’s magic would not let him fall.
Karia let out a whoop of delight, and Argurium answered it with a roar.
The effect on the Berellians was dramatic.
Intent on dragging out their victims, they looked up as one at Argurium’s challenge to see a huge dragon bearing down on them, mouth agape, fangs glittering. As they stared in shock and horror, Argurium let loose with her challenge again, then her wings flared and she hovered almost over them.
The Berellians ran for it but, when the dragon did not chase them, some of them slowed to a stop and watched nervously as Argurium landed delicately.
Martil let go of the strap reluctantly and slid onto the ground. A cold anger gripped him. What was Merren thinking? Fighting to save the family would achieve nothing. The plan depended on speed—and meant those who had refused to heed warnings had to be sacrificed. Even if they saved this family, his Rallorans would have to risk their lives to give them time to get north in safety.
‘It’s the Butcher of Bellic and his Witch Queen! Ten thousand in gold if we bring back their heads,’ a Berellian yelled and a group of them advanced cautiously, the thought of the gold overwheming fear of the dragon.
Martil drew the Dragon Sword, conscious of Karia watching him. He had to be careful here…and what about the elf and dragon? Why were they not doing more to help?
Then he realised Merren was beside him, holding a dagger.
‘Merren! Get back on the dragon,’ he ordered.
‘I will fight for my people,’ she said grimly.
‘I can’t fight and watch you at the same time!’ he shouted at her.
The Berellians raced in, but a sweep of Argurium’s tail sent three flying through the air to crash into a nearby fence.
The last two pressed home their attack and Martil automatically defended himself. But his customary skill seemed to have deserted him; he was thinking too much, unable to lose himself in the fight, unable to wipe the thought that he could not risk himself and leave Karia alone. Luckily he still had the Dragon Sword, which sliced through everything. And surely it would approve of being used to protect women and children. He cut down one, then whirled to face the second man—only to see Merren drive her dagger into the back of the Berellian’s neck.
‘It’s harder than it looks,’ Merren commented, as she ripped the bloody blade out of the man’s neck.
‘Merren!’
She looked at him. ‘I knew what you would do, and that the second man would turn to attack you, hoping to get in a lucky strike. I won’t have it said that I did not fight for my people. And I will not sit back and wait to be saved by men.’
Martil shook his head. What if all the Berellians had stayed? What would have happened then? ‘But you’re the Queen. You’re too valuable. It’s foolish to risk yourself like this!’
‘Remember who you are talking to!’ she blazed back.
‘I am talking to the Queen of this country, without whom we are lost! And I’m talking to the mother of my child. I don’t want to see either of you hurt,’ he growled.
‘Keep your voice down,’ she warned. ‘I am the Queen before I am anything else. Do you know what that is like?’
Martil rolled his eyes. ‘How could I possibly know that?’
‘Exactly. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything on your shoulders. The country is being torn apart, and I am the only one who can put it back together again. And if I don’t do that, then not only will thousands of people die in Norstalos, but the whole continent will be lost to Zorva and it will all be my fault! Do you know what it is like to carry that burden? Every day I must make a score of decisions that sentence people to death, in the name of the greater good. Every day I must wonder if I have made a mistake that will doom us all. And then I fly down here and see the result of my choices…’
‘You have made the right choices. More people will die if you don’t make those decisions,’ Martil pointed out.
‘I know the arguments. But what seems sensible back at the capital, while sitting around a map marked with ink, is very different down here! And, Aroaril help me, seeing it doesn’t make it easier to live with.’
‘That’s why you need to stay above the fighting. On the dragon. Because when you get down here, it gets dangerous and confused. We need you to be apart from all that,’ Martil argued.
‘Well, I’m beginning to think that is a bad idea,’ Merren warned him.
‘Merren, listen to me—’ Martil began angrily but she cut him off.
‘You are not helping me! Already everyone wants something from me as Queen, so that I feel stretched in all directions, then you come along wanting even more from me. You want me to turn my back on the country and become a little wife and mother to the child that you gave me!’
‘That is not what I wanted, and I didn’t know you were going to get pregnant!’ Martil said furiously. ‘You were the one who seduced me, remember?’
‘Oh, I remember,’ she told him. ‘And sometimes I wish I hadn’t.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ Martil protested.
Merren looked at him and had to take a deep breath. Did she mean that? Yes and no…‘It has just led to more problems. Even defeating Gello brought more suffering on this country. There will be some saying that it would have been better for Norstalos to be ruled by Gello, to save it from these invasions.’
‘Then they are idiots.’
‘Are they? Tell that to the murdered families we saw at the last farm. This was all my choice and, as such, I have to live with the consequences. That is not easy. And it is even harder when I see what happens to those whose only crime was to think they could live in peace.’
Martil stepped forwards, wanting to take her in his arms, both to give her comfort and because he needed it also.
She held up her hand. ‘I can’t. That won’t make things better. It will make them more difficult. Because the
country needs me to be strong,’ she told him coldly.
Martil did not know what more to say, and did not get a chance to think of anything, because Havell strode over to them.
‘What are we going to do? Those Berellians will be back soon, in greater numbers.’ He pointed to where the farmer’s wife was sobbing over the body of her husband, surrounded by her four weeping children.
Martil ignored them, silently fuming. This argument was not over yet, not by a long way.
‘We take them with us,’ Merren announced.
‘This was not part of our deal! Argurium is not some beast of burden!’ Havell cried.
‘Just to Wells, then,’ Merren said instantly.
‘And after them? How many more will we be forced to carry? The cost in magic will become too great,’ Havell argued. ‘And I don’t like the idea of us swooping down to try and save everyone threatened by your enemies. The Dragon Sword wielder is not to be risked like this!’
‘The Dragon Sword wielder serves me first!’ Merren said coldly.
Martil stepped closer. ‘I am here, you know!’ he interrupted. ‘And I am not some toy to be fought over!’
Merren ignored him, focused only on Havell. ‘I shall not leave these people behind to die,’ she declared.
‘And I say we cannot load Argurium up as if she were a draughthorse pulling a wagon-load of children at a fair!’
‘Kesbury is around here somewhere with some villagers. We can leave them with him,’ she suggested. ‘I want to find out what happened to them, anyway.’
‘All right.’ Havell sighed defeatedly.
Barrett burst back into the palace throne room.
He had arrived back at his house, along with Jaret and Wilsen, to find the capital in turmoil. Carriages, wagons, horses, donkeys—anything with wheels or hooves packed the streets, trying to get out of the gates and join the rush northwards. He and the two Royal Guard had to almost fight their way through the crowds at times. Men shouted for their families, women called for their children and children cried for their parents.