by Duncan Lay
They stayed like that for a while, until her tears dried up and she just lay there, enjoying being cuddled by them both. Then something occurred to her.
‘Good! But why?’
Martil and Merren exchanged a look over the top of her head.
‘Well, Merren and I are going to marry,’ Martil said carefully.
But Karia only rolled her eyes.
‘Well! About time!’ she told them. ‘Haven’t I been saying that for ages? Finally, you decide to listen to me!’
‘I know. I should have listened to you earlier,’ Merren agreed with a smile.
‘But there is one problem with you marrying Martil,’ Karia admitted.
‘And what’s that?’ Merren glanced up at Martil, whose face reflected her own concerns. Would Karia be angry about the new baby on the way?
‘You realise you will have to sleep in the same bed as him every night? And, Aroaril, does he smell! Take a whiff now!’
Merren tried to keep a straight face as Martil tickled Karia. But she could not hold herself in and their laughter rang out, mixing and filling the room.
‘Move!’ Gello roared at the men.
He urged on the laggards with the flat of his sword. ‘Anyone who falls gets left behind! We wait for nobody!’ he yelled at them.
He had woken the battered remnants of the grand army of conquest before dawn and pushed them through the day. They were covering in turns of an hourglass the distance it had taken the Tenochs days to achieve. It was killing the horses but, as they planned to leave those at Worick, it did not matter, they just needed to last long enough to get the men onto the Tenoch ships.
He could have despaired, he could have given up. But he was utterly determined not to be beaten. As far as he was concerned, the massive defeat was the fault of Markuz and Onzalez. He had nothing to do with it. But, if he could get these men away, he still had a chance. And if Onzalez was able to unlock the power of the Dragon Egg then he had a good chance. The way he saw it, winning from a position of despair was the true path to greatness. Three times now he had had all the advantages, all the numbers, and each time Merren had beaten him. If she could do it, surely he could! And he imagined the saga that would follow! Gello, beaten twice, left with a pitiful, bedraggled force, somehow snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. It would be a wonderful story. And surely it would not be that difficult? True, she had defeated him, but her little army had been badly hurt in the battle and the last thing she would be thinking of was building up a new force. He could return within the year and Norstalos would still be ripe for the taking. Thoughts like this sustained him, drove him to push the stragglers onwards. He wanted to save every man he could—for when he returned.
Onzalez watched the way Gello inspired and pushed the men to greater limits, and he approved. He did not need the distraction. His mind was occupied by one thought. The Dragon Egg. The most powerful magical object in the world. The one thing that would not only guarantee him life on his return to Tenoch but allow him to return to victory. He would do whatever it took to get his hands on it. If that meant giving Gello a crown, handing over power to a man he did not trust, then so be it. What mattered was the victory.
Nerrin gazed out over the ruins of what had been the bustling port of Worick and spat in disgust. A dozen ships were slowly making their way out to sea, their decks packed with men.
‘Bastards are getting away!’ Kettering snarled.
‘We couldn’t have gone any faster,’ Nerrin sighed. ‘The horses are just about dead as it is. And the men wouldn’t have been far behind.’
Kettering did not answer. They had caught a score of stragglers, most of them in the last few miles, men whose horses had fallen and who could not keep up with Gello’s fleeing forces. Kettering’s sword was still wet with the blood of the last.
‘They won’t be back. We won’t see them again, sir,’ Dunner offered.
Nerrin smiled. ‘Aye. You’re right there. But I’d have been happier returning with that bastard in chains—or at least his head.’
‘You’re right,’ Barrett agreed. ‘To think the Fearpriests will take him back to their land, where he can live out his life in luxury! After all he has put us through, after all he has done to the country, it’s not fair that he escapes justice.’
‘Life isn’t fair,’ Nerrin pointed out, and none disagreed with him.
‘What do we do now?’ Kettering asked disgustedly.
‘I’ll let the Queen know that Gello has escaped,’ Barrett said tiredly.
‘I hope we haven’t missed all of the party—or the victory parades,’ Dunner grumbled.
‘I care nothing for any of those!’ Kettering said harshly. He turned his horse. In some ways, he wished he had died on the battlefield. How could he go back to a normal life now?
The others watched him go, silently. Nerrin and Dunner exchanged looks, for they recognised in Kettering some of what they had felt after the Ralloran Wars.
‘Maybe one day we can go and get Gello?’ Dunner suggested hopefully.
Nerrin snorted. ‘Sail across the sea? Are you mad? Come on, we’ll let the men rest, then we’ll start back to the capital.’
‘We had a deal. Now is the time to fulfil it,’ Havell declared.
‘What, we need to go right now?’ Martil protested. He had been playing with Karia, trying to keep her mind from Father Nott and her grief. Merren had joined in, but had left to go and see the wounded, as well as to supervise the collection of the dead Berellians and Tenochs. The bodies had to be buried. Apart from the threat of disease, thousands of birds already fought over the juiciest parts of the corpses, and more flew in every day. The noise alone reached into the palace. Seemingly every crow and raven across the continent—the ones who had grown fat and sleek on the southern battlefields—were on their way.
Havell sighed. ‘We do not have to go immediately. But there is no sense in waiting. You have a task. A simple task, to be sure, but one with the utmost importance. You might as well be on the Isle as here. And it might be better for Karia, as well. I know she has been looking forward to Dragonara Isle. After what she has suffered, the trip might do her good.’
Martil leaned in close. ‘I hear what you say,’ he agreed. ‘But you realise she has been looking forward to the Isle because she thinks she’s going to meet fairies and pixies and talking bunny rabbits?’
Havell paused, looking over to where Karia had a dolly and a teddy bear talking to each other. ‘Well, there won’t be anything like that. But it is still a wonderful place. Warm, sandy beaches, the clearest blue waters and fish that will allow themselves to be fed by hand.’
Martil smiled. It did sound pleasant. But there would be no Merren there, which was a perfect reason to put off his trip for as long as possible, and ensure his stay was brief.
‘I’ll speak to Merren about when she thinks I might be spared here,’ was all he would promise.
Havell looked at him. ‘It is a beautiful place. Perhaps the ideal one for a honeymoon?’
Martil had to grin. ‘I’ll ask her, Elf.’
‘Elfaran.’
‘Whatever.’
‘See you do it. Soon.’
18
It was a very different council meeting to the ones they had been holding for the past few weeks. Gone were the strained faces, the stress, the fear. Instead people were laughing and joking or, in the case of Conal, nursing a huge hangover. There were a few faces missing—Nott being the most noticeable.
Quiller, now Bishop Quiller, had finally arrived at the capital. Gratt, of course, was still in the far north, trying to organise the thousands of refugees who had arrived there, and help them return to their homes further south. Barrett was returning from the fruitless pursuit of Gello, along with Nerrin, Dunner and Kettering, while Rocus was still confined to bed. Almost everyone tried to talk to Karia, offer her sweet treats or drinks, which she was happy enough to accept. There were two seats near Merren left empty—one for Nott and one for Coun
t Sendric, who was the other noticeable absentee.
‘We cannot wait for Sendric,’ Merren announced finally. ‘There is too much to get through.’
‘First, with your permission, your majesty, I would like to call for three cheers for Queen Merren, and a vote of thanks for how she has guided us through the darkest time in the country’s history,’ Conal stood and announced.
Before Merren could protest, the room had erupted with cheers, which took her several attempts to wave down.
‘You may cheer me—but it is the rest of you who need thanks. Every one of you played a vital part in saving this country—and it is I who should applaud you.’ She paused and looked around at them all. ‘And I hope Romon here reflects that, in the saga I hear he is preparing.’
Romon stood and bowed, grinning. He thanked his lucky stars he had decided to go with the Queen in that desperate dash from the ranger barracks. The saga he was writing would become famous, more famous even than the Song of Bellic—for it had a happier ending.
‘But we still have much to do. We are yet to find out the true extent of the damage to the southern part of the country, not to mention to the cities of Worick and Cessor. Thousands of people must return to their homes and our saviours, the Derthals, must be welcomed into the northern forest. Our borders must be made safe and we must continue the work we began before the invasion. But first, there will be a cause for celebration. You may remember I announced I would marry Count Sendric, the last surviving noble. That is no longer the case. Instead, I shall marry Captain Martil.’
Martil could not keep the grin off his face as people rushed to shake his hand. Unlike the announcement of her engagement to Sendric, the cheers and applause were genuine.
‘The marriage will also include our formal adoption of Karia,’ Merren continued and Karia laughed at the cheers for that.
‘Naturally the ceremony will be performed by the Archbishop—and will have to happen soon, for Martil needs to fly to Dragonara Isle, to perform a vital task for the dragons, which will take him away from us for we don’t know how long. But I’m hopeful the dragons will allow me to visit now and again!’
She smiled at Martil and he felt his heart swell. Karia leaned in and hugged him and he wanted to preserve that moment forever. It could not get any better.
Then the door crashed open.
Everyone turned to see Sendric stride in, looking grim, followed by a dozen men Merren recognised as guild leaders and who were a mystery to everyone else. His entrance was so sudden, and dramatic, that Jaret and Wilsen, who had been laughing and clapping along with the rest, actually started forwards and had half-drawn their swords before they saw who it was.
‘Sendric! Welcome!’ Merren greeted. ‘We were just dealing with a happy announcement before moving on to…’
‘Your majesty, I apologise, but what I have to say will change all plans you have made, or want to make,’ Sendric warned.
Instantly the atmosphere in the throne room chilled, as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over it. The last time such a statement had been made—coincidentally just after a wedding announcement—they had been told of the invasion threat.
‘What is it?’ Merren demanded.
‘The country is on the brink of collapse and your relationship with Captain Martil will destroy it,’ Sendric explained.
Martil started to rise but Merren held out a hand and he subsided.
Sendric gestured to the men behind him.
‘As you suggested, I have been investigating the economic impact the invasions and the mass evacuation have had on the country. Here with me are the leaders of the biggest guilds in the country, men who keep the treasury full and the country moving. And the news from them is horrific. We must stop this celebration, this wanton waste of food now. Immediate food rationing must be brought in and harsh penalties imposed for anyone breaking these laws. I would also suggest martial law be imposed, with full authority resting with the crown, imposed by the captains around this table.’
He looked around the table to see most people gazing at him in shock, although from the expression on a couple of faces, there was also the strong suspicion this was some kind of jest.
‘But Count Sendric, surely it can’t be as bad as that!’ Gia was the first one to protest.
‘Actually, it is worse,’ Sendric told her, with some satisfaction.
‘That is an extraordinary statement, Count. Please explain it,’ Merren said simply.
Sendric signalled to the men with him, who began moving around the table, handing out parchment lists.
‘First, we are facing mass starvation this winter. Autumn crops have not been sown, while livestock losses have been near catastrophic. By the time our farmers return to their homes, and rebuild, we are not going to have anything worth harvesting until next summer, at the earliest. Add to that our promises of food and seeds for the Derthals and you are looking at the worst winter in our history. And that is even before we look at the prospect of bad weather. The magical storm that our enemies stirred up has had an effect on our weather patterns. We are expecting widespread snow, as well as temperatures that are unusually low. The young and the old will pay the price of that.
‘On top of this, the tax income will be at a historic low—and there is little prospect of it picking up. The industries of the south and west have ground to a halt. There are shortages of everything now. They are about to become severe. Shops will sell out and there will be no way of replenishing stock. The most graphic example was during the battle. We ran out of arrows because the smiths, fletchers and bowyers were fleeing an invasion, rather than working at their craft.
‘Now we turn to the utter destruction of two harbour cities, Cessor and Worick, as well as major damage to the town of Wells, and the loss of scores of villages and hundreds of farms. Rebuilding those alone will take years, and cost an extraordinary amount of money.
‘Money that we do not have. Production from the mines in the north has dropped off dramatically. The sight of the massive Derthal army coming down from the north saw the mines go into lockdown for their own protection. They have only just begun to work again. Output is down by almost half.
‘Added to this is the fear of the people. Even though our enemies have been defeated, there are many who do not want to return to the far south, or even to the coast, for fear of another such invasion. It is irrational, but it is real. It will also grow worse, for Gello and nearly two thousand men have managed to escape on the Tenoch ships. The people will think, rightly, that one day he will be back.
‘Then we have the problem of the Derthals. The people in this city, who saw them fight and die for us, have accepted them. But they do not live in the north. Gratt’s latest report is many of the northern refugees are talking of barring the passes, and preventing the Derthals from returning to the forests.
‘Then there is the first female Archbishop. There is enormous concern over such a thing—and a great deal of talk about how such a thing is not natural—this is not my opinion, this is merely a report.
‘This is on top of the general disquiet that already existed in much of the country: the concerns about Rallorans who are also Butchers of Bellic; about a queen, when we have not had such a thing before. This stems back to Gello’s use of the bards and priests to tell the people that they should hate you and all Rallorans. We have done much to fight this attitude, but it still lingers.
‘I tell you, this country is in as much danger as it was in the days of King Riel. It is ready to break apart at the seams. You have given new power to the people, your majesty. They plan to use it, to protest against what has happened to them. Your idea for a people’s congress, which will supply a new Royal Council to work with you, will likely see a mass of angry, hurt peasants fill the chamber, all wanting recompense for what they have gone through. If you thought dealing with a council that had been subverted by Gello and his mother Ivene was bad, wait until you try and work with these people. I know you are thinking
of marrying Martil. But a Ralloran, one who is base-born, and the prospect of a half-Ralloran Crown Prince—it will be the final straw. Regions will break away, refuse to pay taxes, refuse to obey proclamations from the capital. We will descend into anarchy. Your only alternative will be to use the army to impose your control on the people.’
Merren had listened to his words with mounting horror and revulsion. She could see, without even looking, that Martil was ready to explode and she stood quickly.
‘Count Sendric. Some of the things you said are disturbing. I do not doubt the damage to the country, and the threat of starvation for many of our people. I shall address that. But what you say about the people’s feelings about the Derthals, about the Rallorans—I cannot believe that to be true. What we have seen in the last day or so here has proved that our people can look beyond someone’s birthplace to judge their worth. The people are hurting but to think that the country will break apart over old prejudices is impossible!’
She stared at him carefully and he knew she was adding the unspoken question about ulterior motives and his oft-spoken demand that she not marry Martil, and marry him instead.
‘Your majesty, I am saying this because I love this country and I do not want it harmed. I am only presenting what others have told me. Do not take my word for it. That is why I have brought so many guild leaders with me. And don’t rely on their word, either. Ask Bishop Quiller what the people are saying about a woman Archbishop, a woman who has never held a parish before! Ask Gratt what is happening in the north—and what will happen when thousands of Derthal females and young march out of the mountains and into the northern forest! Every timber worker in the north will be out of work, every mill must shut! Talk to the surviving people of Worick and Cessor! They are our two main ports, remember—half of our imported goods come through there. Without them, you are looking at a long road trip through the eastern side of the continent, or sailing to Tetril and coming west from there. We cannot even make up our shortages that way. Talk to the people and you will find out how bad it is! Talk to the people and you will see that, far from exaggerating, I am stating the bitter truth.’