by Duncan Lay
‘So what happens now?’ Sacrax asked tiredly, sitting on the ground and massaging his spear arm.
‘I shall chase our enemies, make sure they can never hurt us again. You help the wounded, then we celebrate. We won, my friend! We won, thanks to your warriors!’ Martil held out his hand.
Sacrax looked at his tired and bloodied warriors. ‘Glad it is over,’ he admitted, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Now I see why my fathers left our home rather than fight like this.’
‘Well, you have your home back again. And you shall never have to leave there,’ Martil promised. ‘Anyone who doesn’t want you there will answer to me, and every man who fought with you today.’
‘And you also welcome. From today, you are a Derthal.’ Sacrax ignored Martil’s hand and embraced him instead. ‘You saved my life—the lives of many of my warriors.’
‘I must go, my friend,’ Martil said finally, when he managed to extricate himself. ‘I must not let Gello escape.’
‘Perhaps you can do it from the dragon.’ Sacrax pointed to where Argurium swooped towards them.
Martil felt a sudden chill. Something had gone wrong. He knew it. All thoughts of pursuing Gello vanished.
‘Archbishop! You were magnificent! For a moment I thought that Fearpriest would turn the battle—and you defeated him!’ Merren called.
‘Your majesty, you too were magnificent. Your courage and vision have saved this country, this continent—perhaps the world—from the dark clutches of Zorva.’ Nott smiled tiredly. ‘As for me, I did what I was required to do. I was but a vessel for the power of Aroaril.’
‘You sell yourself short, Archbishop.’ Merren smiled, but trailed off when Nott toppled over.
Kesbury caught Nott in his arms and laid him gently on the ground.
Merren jumped down from Tomon’s back and rushed over to where Milly held Nott’s hand.
‘Do not cry. I have fulfilled my purpose,’ Nott said. ‘Man is not supposed to hold so much power. Better that it be me, rather than one of you. Tell Karia I love her, she has my blessing and I will watch over her always.’
‘But who will lead the Church back?’ Milly asked, tears running down her face.
‘You will, my dear. You and Kesbury. That is your purpose. Mine is finished.’
Merren stared down at the old man, who smiled back up at her. She thought of all the things she said about him in anger, the way she had accused him of manipulating her and tricking her.
‘I am sorry,’ she told him. ‘This country will not forget what you did.’
Nott smiled once more, then his last breath whispered out and he was still.
Merren fought to compose herself as Milly sobbed and Kesbury sat, cradling Nott in his arms, tears running down his face. She looked up as Argurium swooped in to land, and the small girl leaped from the dragon’s back and pounded across the ground. Merren raced towards her and caught Karia up in her arms.
‘Let me go! Let me go! Father! I’m coming!’ she screamed.
‘He’s gone. He’s gone. But I’m still here for you, Martil’s still here.’ Merren hugged the sobbing girl close and pointed at Havell.
‘Get Martil!’
By the time Argurium had returned with Martil, Karia was almost beside herself. She flung herself into Martil’s arms and he held her close.
‘Kesbury, can you carry the Archbishop into the city? We must honour what he did,’ Milly asked.
Merren put her hand on Milly’s shoulder.
‘Archbishop,’ she said. ‘There are others who need your help first.’
‘Don’t call me that! I’m not fit to follow in his footsteps!’ Milly turned a tear-stained face to Merren.
‘You are the Archbishop, and you have a duty to your people! Would you let his sacrifice be in vain?’ Merren snapped.
Milly’s eyes blazed for a moment, then she wiped them, and nodded.
‘There are men and Derthals who need us,’ she agreed. ‘We shall help them.’
Merren watched her go and felt exhausted. She knew she should feel elated. But she had lived with the pressure on her shoulders for so long, the burden of so many lives depending on her, that even victory left her feeling empty. The death of Nott, of so many others was also no reason to celebrate.
She looked back across the field, to where Rallorans, Derthals and Norstalines put down their weapons and worked, side by side, to save each other on the field where they had fought as one. That made her feel good, at least.
‘Why did he have to die? Why?’ Karia demanded.
Martil held her close. ‘I don’t know. But he would have done that because he knew it would save many other lives.’ He did not add that Nott’s insistence on spending time with Karia made sense now. He could not stop a flicker of fear at Nott’s fate. The man had been forced to give up everything he loved—and his reward had been death. He had saved them but it was still a cruel end and, worse, Martil wondered if it also awaited him.
‘I miss him! I want him back!’
‘I know. But I’m here. I’ll always be here. There will be no more battles. It is all finished,’ Martil told her. He had taken a few moments to clean himself. But he could see he was still smearing her with blood. Barrett had released the magical protection, and the cut he had taken from a Tenoch spear along his side was bleeding, as were several other wounds on his arms, chest and legs, which he had barely noticed before but were now burning with pain.
‘Just stay with me. Don’t leave,’ she begged.
‘I will,’ he promised, hugging her tight.
‘I just wanted to say goodbye, tell him I love him,’ she tried to wipe her eyes.
‘He knew.’ Martil held her until her sobs quietened down, and became aware that Merren was standing close.
‘We did it, my Queen!’ he said softly.
‘We did, my Champion.’ She smiled back, trailing her fingers across his cheek.
‘So do you think the people will accept a Ralloran Prince Consort now?’ he managed to ask.
Merren wanted to say yes, but hesitated. ‘We shall see,’ was all she said.
Gello and the Berellians had left behind nearly two thousand horses. Nerrin could not find riders for them all—but he still had five hundred Rallorans, and more than that again of Norstalines under Kettering. With them went Barrett, in case the Fearpriests tried to use magic. Milly believed they would not stop and fight, they would just run, that Nott’s power had scared them but Merren insisted and Barrett was happy to show his strength.
The pursuers were tired, but angry. And every mile of countryside they went through made them angrier. Every burned farm, every ravaged village was a spur to them. Tenochs and Berellians, the men who had done this, fled before them. But against men on horseback, they had no chance. Some tried to fight—and died. Some tried to hide, but companies of men went through every cutting, house and village, everywhere there was a place where their enemies could lurk. Some tried to surrender, rushing out with hands held high. A few of these were killed—particularly if they tried to surrender anywhere near the bodies of dead Norstaline women and children. Most were just tied up, where they could do no harm. Although even these did not always survive, for following behind were ordinary Norstalines, men from the city, who had been driven out of this land by the Tenochs and Norstalines. They had no mercy, not even for a tied and cowering enemy. Kitchen knives, wood axes and clubs were used to finish them off.
But while they slaughtered thousands of Tenochs and Berellians, Gello and his riders drew further ahead. They halted as it grew dark.
‘We need food to continue the pursuit,’ Nerrin told Dunner. ‘Take a company back to the capital and bring us supplies. They’ll get tired and we’ll catch them. We don’t stop until we have the last one.’
It was a cold camp for Gello and the bedraggled survivors of what had been an army of conquest. Some saddlebags had a little food in them and a few men had something in a belt pouch—if they had not thrown it away in their desperate
dash for life—but most went hungry. There was fire and there was water—but little else. And then there was the fear. They knew they were being chased and that they could expect little mercy, as they had promised none.
‘What now?’ was the common question being asked around the fires.
There was no answer. Only the fact that they had to stay together to survive kept men from running off. And where, in this country, could they run to?
‘What now?’ Gello asked Onzalez.
The Fearpriest had finally woken up after Prent had tried to heal him, and he was sitting away from the fire, for the heat was aggravating the burn on his face—the burn caused by Nott’s blow.
‘This is a valuable lesson for us,’ Onzalez declared. ‘We were arrogant, we thought we could achieve with strength of arms what Zorva wanted us to do through His power. But we are not defeated. Oh no. The foul Aroaril worshippers may rejoice tonight but their time is coming!’
Gello felt a flare of anger. He had placed himself and his men in the hands of this Fearpriest—and once more he had been left defeated at his moment of triumph. If he was ever going to achieve his destiny then he had to seize some control. ‘How?’ he demanded. ‘Where can we go? All that is left of the Berellian army is with us. And this time Merren won’t let us escape over the border. There’s no-one to stop Martil coming after us now—and we all know what happened the last time he invaded Berellia! Then the Rallorans under Tolbert will want a slice of revenge and probably the Avish as well—there is nowhere to hide.’
There was a collective intake of breath around the fire as Prent, Khaliz and Ezok all looked at the Fearpriest. Just one day ago, nobody would have dared to speak to Onzalez like that. But everything had changed in that day. Not only was Gello the only monarch left but every man was dependent on him.
Onzalez said nothing for a long moment. He could not go back to Tenoch like this. The Ruling Council had been his. They had given him power, freedom and an army to wield. But he was under no illusions that they were loyal. They were like the wolf pack—if they smelled weakness they would turn on him, and tear him to pieces. If he returned with nothing, he would be first undermined, then eventually stretched out across the altar. He had to give them a prize, something to show for his years away from Tenoch. His first instinct had been to seek sanctuary in Berellia, where he had left thousands of worshippers. But Gello was right. There was no Berellian army any more and the Norstalines, Rallorans and Avish could parcel the country up between them. He glanced up to see Ezok looking at him and was struck by inspiration.
‘Dragonara Isle,’ he said instantly.
‘What nonsense is that?’ Gello snorted. ‘Do you think the dragons will welcome us in?’
‘No. But that is not why we go there. They have a magical object, so powerful it makes the Dragon Sword look like a child’s toy! It is called the Dragon Egg and, with it, we cannot be stopped,’ Onzalez declared, enthusiasm returning to his voice. ‘With it in our hands, we shall have power over magic itself!’
‘Why did you not tell us of this before? And why have we not heard of it ourselves?’ Gello asked suspiciously.
‘Ezok discovered it on his failed trip to the north to see the foul creatures of Aroaril!’
Everyone turned to look at Ezok and Khaliz.
‘Yes, the trip that cost us victory! If the goblins had stayed in their mountains, we would even now be sitting in my palace!’ Gello growled.
Ezok met his gaze. ‘The fault lies with Cezar—and he is long dead,’ he replied defiantly. ‘And perhaps we were meant to go there to find out about the Dragon Egg. Perhaps this is all part of Zorva’s plan for our eventual victory.’
Gello snorted with disgust. Having a massive army was the key to victory. Then he paused. Twice now he had had a massive army—and failed. Perhaps he needed something to counter the Dragon Sword…
‘Ezok is right,’ Onzalez agreed. ‘With the Egg in our control, we can bring down the thrones of the world!’
‘And you are sure of this Egg’s power?’ Gello challenged Ezok. He had not trusted the man since Pilleth.
Ezok looked him in the eye. ‘On my life. The dragon we all saw above the battlefield was there in the north and let slip the truth about it. They need Martil and the Dragon Sword to guard it. In exchange for his help, the dragon aided them in the battle. It is unbelievably powerful—it can control all magic!’
‘What I could do with that!’ Khaliz said reverently.
Gello hesitated. After all, if it was so powerful, surely the dragons would not give it up easily.
Onzalez levered himself to his feet. ‘Walk with me, King Gello. You and I have much to discuss,’ he invited.
Gello stood also, although he made sure he kept his hand on his sword. He followed Onzalez to a quiet area, away from the obvious interest of the other three.
‘I want to see you crowned emperor, ruling over this entire continent,’ Onzalez said simply.
Gello said nothing.
‘But, as you rightly point out, there is no safe land here for us. We can sail back to Tenoch, to recover and build our strength there. But I will not lie to you—we shall not receive a warm welcome if we return there in defeat. The Ruling Council belongs to me—but they will rediscover their independence if they think I am weak. Besides, the best warriors Tenoch has are either here, or lying dead outside the Norstaline capital. To build an army big enough to retake Berellia, let alone Norstalos and the other countries, will take many years. But if we have the Dragon Egg, we shall be welcomed back in Tenoch. With it in our hands, we can build an army by magic. We can sail back here and destroy everything and everyone who tries to stop us! And then you can take your rightful place on the throne.’
‘As your puppet?’ Gello asked sourly. He knew Onzalez only wanted help because of weakness. Return his power and he could not be trusted.
‘No. My life’s work is to convert the Aroaril-lovers to the true God. It was my arrogance and lust for power that destroyed us today. I see it now. Only together can we secure the final victory.’
‘And the Ruling Council? What is this?’ Gello sniffed.
‘The city, indeed the continent, is ruled by the Seventeen, also known as the Ruling Council or, simply, the Council. These are the seventeen most powerful priests of Zorva on the continent, nine from Tenoch, one each from the eight city-states that we rule. When I say the seventeen, I mean sixteen others and myself,’ Onzalez said carefully. ‘For years I have been the leader and they have done whatever I asked. But they are not loyal. If they see a chance, there are those among them who shall try to seize back power. That is why we need the Egg, so I can show them I am still as strong as ever.’
‘So will we sail to our deaths there?’ Gello asked sharply.
Onzalez did not hesitate. ‘We shall tell them the army is back here, still fighting and we need more men to secure victory. To them, I can disguise lies with half-truths. And, when they see the power of the Dragon Egg, they will give us what we want. Everything will go on as before.’
Gello chewed his nail and wished he could talk to Mother—only he had been forced to leave her portrait behind. He did not much like the sound of this Ruling Council. But he knew men. Habits of obedience became ingrained. If they were used to agreeing with whatever Onzalez suggested, it was reasonable to expect they would continue to do so. ‘But what about the dragons? Surely they will not hand over such a powerful magic item?’
‘The dragons are rarely on their island. They will not expect anyone to dare what we shall. We have men, we have magic and we have the power of Zorva. But, most importantly, we have nothing to lose. We can go away and live in failure, or we can do something to snatch victory!’
Gello reluctantly agreed. What else could he do, where else could he go? He had no choice. He would go along with Onzalez’s plan but if the Fearpriest or Ezok was lying, then he could take control. With two thousand swords at his back he could find a new land, carve himself out another kingdom. Bu
t Norstalos was the one he really wanted, so he would use the Fearpriest for as long as he could. Gello stared at the shadowy cowl. ‘You ask a great deal. But how can I trust you?’
Onzalez hesitated only a moment before lowering his cowl, revealing his face.
Gello had not known what to expect—he was thinking an elderly man perhaps, one whose face was marked by all the blood he had spilled for Zorva. But Onzalez was young, no older than Gello himself. It was hard to see in the dim light from the nearby fires but his skin was swarthy, marked by several tattoos as well as the livid burn on his right cheek. He looked…normal. Gello could barely believe he had seen the man parade around in the warm, bloody skin of a flayed victim little more than a day before. Onzalez looked as though he could be a diplomat, or prosperous merchant, not a bloody-handed priest of the Dark God.
‘You are the first person not on the council to see my face—and live—in ten years,’ Onzalez said simply. ‘There is no greater trust for me. No words could equal that.’
Gello stared at him coolly.
‘Nevertheless, I would like you to swear to Zorva that you will make me emperor—and let me rule alone—if I help you retrieve the Dragon Egg from Dragonara Isle.’
‘I do swear by Zorva,’ Onzalez agreed.
Gello chuckled. ‘Then all we have to do is escape Martil’s pursuit and sail strange craft from Worick to Dragonara Isle, where no man has sailed for decades.’
‘Those are the least of our problems,’ Onzalez told him, as he raised his cowl once more.
17
They worked on, by torchlight and lamplight, priests, priestesses, healers, the Magicians’ Guild and ordinary people. There were so many wounded and dead.
By unspoken agreement, the Tenochs, Berellians and Gello’s traitorous Norstalines were left. The priorities were the Norstalines, Rallorans and Derthals. Not only were they spread over a massive area, but they were also often buried under other bodies. Then there were the civilians, who had poured out of the capital to chase a beaten enemy. While they had slaughtered many fleeing soldiers, some of those had turned and fought back, like trapped rats. Dozens of wounded and dead had been brought back, some from miles away.