The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  ‘Aye, well, I’ve had a little experience of it,’ Conal agreed.

  ‘Why did they want to get the Sword out of the country?’ Martil asked.

  Barrett had to quell his irritation again. He reminded himself he needed this man’s support. ‘It was all part of his grand plan. The people think Norstalos has been at peace because of the Sword. Without it, they are terrified Norstalos will experience a huge increase in banditry, murder, rape and the rest.

  ‘The Royal Council has been corrupted by Gello. It called him in to restore the order disrupted by his theft of the Dragon Sword. You have to admire a mind like that. He creates a problem to which he is seen as the only solution. But now we can stop him. With the Dragon Sword’s wielder by her side, the Queen can rally the ordinary people of Norstalos, as well as the ordinary soldiers, who know nothing about the scheming of Gello, but who just obey orders.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’ Martil could not help but ask.

  Barrett smiled. He and the Queen had discussed this many times. ‘Simple. You and the Queen order the regiments to arrest any officer who does not pledge their loyalty, then you order a few companies to arrest Gello.’

  ‘And the Sword will make them obey me?’ Martil said doubtfully.

  ‘In the hands of a good man, other good men will follow you,’ Barrett said in exasperation. ‘It is straightforward enough.’

  Martil nearly choked. There were better ways to die. This wizard had obviously been reading too many sagas and not spending enough time around real people. It was time to give him a quick lesson.

  ‘How many men in the army will be good?’ he asked. ‘Half? A third? Three-quarters?’

  Barrett considered the question. ‘Obviously the notion of fighting and killing does attract some bad men, but this is Norstalos. I’d say at least half are good men.’

  ‘And you can be sure the ones we speak to will be the good half? Because if they aren’t, we’re all dead. I’ve been around a few armies, and there are plenty of men in them who aren’t good. If Gello knows his job then they’ll be fired up to invade other countries, and you’d be lucky to find a quarter of them willing to turn on their comrades in arms. And remember, it only needs a dozen of them, as well as a smart officer, and you’ve got one dead Queen and one dead Dragon Sword wielder.’ He hesitated and then decided to press on with his greatest fear. ‘And what if it doesn’t work for me properly? I did order the assault on Bellic. I have a great deal of blood on my hands. What if I’m not ready yet?’

  Barrett was about to give him a withering dismissal, from force of habit, then hesitated. He could see the point of his words. But he and Queen Merren had pinned so much of their hope on the Dragon Sword working immediately for the wielder. It was all they had talked about for the past three years. The thought that they could have a Dragon Sword wielder but still be in the same situation…he did not want to give up so easily.

  ‘The old bandit follows you now,’ he pointed out. ‘Surely that means it is responding to you.’

  ‘Only because I don’t have anything better to do,’ Conal grunted. He might have confided in Martil but he was not going to say anything to this arrogant wizard.

  Barrett exploded, his hopes and fears and the stress he had been under washing away any desire to placate the Dragon Sword wielder. ‘The country needs you! Duke Gello is almost completely in control and then you’ll see war as you never dreamed of! He’ll raise the biggest army this continent has seen and then crush every country! You Rallorans took decades to defeat Berellia. Do you think you could stop Gello at the head of 75,000 men?’

  There were plenty of subjects that could get Martil angry, and insulting the Ralloran army was one of the big ones.

  ‘War isn’t just about numbers. You Norstalines might think you’re so good that you shit marble but we smashed the best Berellia and Aviland had to offer,’ he snarled. ‘Your pack of pampered lapdogs hasn’t faced real men.’

  Barrett snorted in disgust. He fought for control, took a deep breath and decided to appeal to the Ralloran’s better nature. An inspiring call to arms might win him over. ‘Now is the last chance. You are the last hope of this nation, and with it, the entire continent. What do you say?’ he smiled, sure Martil would respond with some sort of oath to save the Queen and country.

  Martil had heard too many of these sorts of speeches during the wars, usually right before being ordered to fight a hopeless battle. He had no intention of falling for it here. He said nothing.

  Barrett’s face twisted in anger when he saw his declaration had not inspired something similar from Martil. ‘I curse the fate that saw the Sword come to such as you!’ Barrett slammed his hand down on the table and stormed to his feet.

  Karia screamed, shrank back from his anger and ran around to Martil, crying. Instinctively all three men stopped and looked at her. Martil held out his arms and she dived onto his lap, burrowing into his shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right, we were just having a discussion,’ Martil reassured her. She sat on his lap, making sure she was facing away from Barrett. ‘She saw a lot of anger from her father and brothers. It upsets her still,’ he explained.

  Barrett took a deep breath. He had little to do with children but did not want to be seen as the sort of person who frightened small girls. ‘I am sorry, Karia. Can you forgive me?’

  She just burrowed her face deeper into Martil’s shoulder.

  ‘Perhaps later,’ Martil suggested, stroking her hair.

  Barrett looked again at him. Gone was the warrior, in his place was a gentle man, calming a frightened girl. He forced himself to think again. Whatever else Martil might be, he was still the Dragon Sword wielder. ‘You may not believe it, but what you have just shown must have been what the Sword saw in you. It believes in redemption, so it no doubt felt you could be worthy of it—whatever you did, you can learn to unlock its power. Well, you have to. You will be our saviour or you will die. The Sword will only allow those choices.’

  ‘How can the Sword allow anything? It’s a piece of metal!’ Only the fact he had Karia on his lap stopped Martil from raging at Barrett.

  The wizard sighed. ‘It is a work of the dragons. It is not alive, it will not talk to you, but it is now linked to you. A good man will be strengthened by it. One who is not good will find their life slowly being taken by the Sword, much as a wizard gives his own energy to replace the natural magic he or she uses.’

  Martil stared at the Sword in revulsion.

  Conal cackled. ‘If you’d left it alone, you could have given it to the wizard and we’d both be on our way with sacks full of gold. He’s obviously on a secret mission to find the Sword for the Queen.’

  Barrett sighed. ‘Actually, that’s quite accurate. The Queen knew Gello was going to take control, so she sent me out of the city to find the Dragon Sword. I had to rest here and only began looking for it yesterday. No doubt Gello guessed I would follow the trail of the missing Sword, so he would have sent word to stop me if I was seen around here.’

  Martil groaned inwardly. It was worse than he feared. ‘So how do we get to the Queen?’

  ‘Well, I thought you would just walk through the city, holding the Sword, until you had enough men to go to the palace and demand Gello release the Queen,’ Barrett admitted.

  Martil looked at Conal, whose face reflected the horror he felt. Do that and Gello’s men would cut them down in an instant. ‘You’ve been listening to a few too many sagas,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll get the Queen out, then take her and the Sword somewhere out of the way, where the good men can come to us. When we’ve got enough, then we can think about marching on Gello.’

  Barrett nodded reluctantly. ‘I can see the wisdom of that.’

  ‘How does the Sword work?’ Karia had turned around now. ‘Tell me about the dragons!’

  Barrett laughed. After scaring her earlier, he thought he should do his best to be nice. ‘I was obsessed with dragons too, at your age.’

  ‘They call to
me in my dreams and take me flying.’

  Barrett’s fixed smile of sympathy became thoughtful. There was only one reason for that. ‘As they did to me,’ he muttered. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Martil demanded.

  Barrett waved him away. There was no need to get into magic now. They had the Dragon Sword to worry about. He had to tell this thick-headed Ralloran what even Norstaline children knew. ‘Later. First I must tell you more about the Sword.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I do not know exactly how it works, but once back in my library, I should be able to find some books to help us on the subject. What do you know of its history?’

  ‘The dragons gave it to your King Riel, who used it to unite the country, everyone was happy and Norstalos has been peaceful ever since, which the common people think is because of the Sword, even though that makes no sense,’ Martil recited.

  Barrett paused. ‘Fairly accurate,’ he conceded. ‘The key point is, the people think the Sword makes them safe. It doesn’t. It rallies good men, makes them act when perhaps they would prefer to do nothing. The Sword itself has no power to keep the peace. It is up to the people to act. But having the Sword should encourage the people to join us—and if enough people join us, Gello cannot stop us!’

  ‘Look, what if he won’t go that easily? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but someone who has spent years plotting to become king isn’t going to give up just because some Ralloran turns up waving a magic sword,’ Martil said caustically. This wizard and his Queen needed a healthy dose of reality.

  ‘This is boring. How about the dragons?’ Karia declared.

  ‘Be patient,’ Martil told her, and she subsided.

  Barrett looked troubled. ‘Then it will mean civil war.’

  Martil did not like the sound of that—or the idea the Queen’s hopes rested on him, and his ability to master the Sword. But first they had to get to the Queen.

  ‘Where is she being kept?’ he asked.

  ‘In the palace. Perhaps we can find out her routine and the ideal spot to snatch her back,’ Barrett offered.

  ‘Then we should hurry,’ Martil said heavily. ‘Havrick is going to report our meeting and that he suspects I have the Dragon Sword. We need to act before then.’

  ‘Are you finished? Can I see some magic now?’ Karia complained.

  Barrett chuckled. The Ralloran was coming around, so he could afford to be pleasant. ‘You have been patient. Here you are.’ He took a large nut from the side of his plate and tossed it lightly into the air. It flew around the room, swooping up and down before bouncing off Conal’s head and landing in Karia’s hand, where she stared at it, amazed.

  ‘That was fantastic! I could feel the magic then,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You could feel the magic?’ Barrett asked sharply.

  ‘How is it one so young as you became the Queen’s Magician? I though all wizards were dried-up old sticks,’ Conal interrupted, rubbing his head.

  Barrett sniffed. The Ralloran he had to be pleasant to, but this smelly old man had nothing he needed. ‘That is the traditional image of the wizard, the old man with the long beard. Many of those with little talent show that image, in order to impress the gullible. But age is no barrier. Good health is. Any age can work magic. A child can work magic, if they are taught how. In fact, the younger you are the better, for the young have greater energy. It is a paradox. At the time when you have the greatest energy, you have the least amount of knowledge. At the time you have the greatest knowledge, you have the least amount of energy to apply it. I became the Queen’s Magician because I spent my youth rigorously studying. While other novices were happy enough to get to the First or Second Circle, then relax, go drinking and enjoy themselves, I worked, both on my fitness and my skills. Now I am as strong as any warrior yet have the knowledge to use this strength to perform magic.’ He sent another nut around the room, where it bounced three times on Conal’s head before landing before Karia.

  ‘Why don’t you use your staff when you do magic? You hold it but your other hand is the thing that releases the magic,’ Karia asked.

  Barrett had been chuckling at the expression on Conal’s face, but looked closely at her instead. ‘How do you know I don’t use my staff?’

  ‘I just do. Besides, I can see it is just wood.’

  Barrett hesitated. There was something about this girl. Was this anything to do with the Dragon Sword and the changes to a Butcher of Bellic? ‘You’re right. The staff is a symbol, sometimes a weapon, and comes in handy when you are tired after using magic,’ he admitted.

  ‘This is all very well, but we need to do some serious planning. We have to get across the country and into the city unseen, then get the Queen out again, all under the noses of Gello’s guards.’ Martil decided to bring things back on track.

  Barrett laughed. ‘You forget who you are with. I can get you into the city, and then get us all out again, using magic. It is the same way I travelled here. Then I shall have a brilliant plan to snatch the Queen out from under Gello’s nose, raise an army and take back the country.’

  ‘I bet plenty of bards performed sagas at the palace,’ Martil observed.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked a baffled Barrett.

  ‘No reason,’ Martil shrugged, but it merely confirmed his suspicions that Barrett thought this was some sort of saga. Things did not happen that easily in real life. If Martil had regiments of heavy cavalry and trained infantry under his command, he would be happy to take on a rabble of farmers and townsfolk. But he said nothing.

  He was committed now, it seemed, locked in by magic.

  ‘We’d better get ready then,’ he sighed.

  Father Nott was surprised to receive a summons from the Archbishop only a day after arriving back in Norstalos City. He had been barely aware of the journey from Chell to the capital. The church had provided a comfortable carriage but his mind was solely on Karia and Martil. He could not help but dwell on their conversation. Had he done enough? Had he done too much? In his heart he knew he could not have told Martil everything. Keen judge of human character that he was, he knew giving Martil too much, too quickly, would have the opposite effect. The man was just not ready to be told he was to be a saviour once more. Forcing him to take on such a burden so quickly would result in him running away. Far better for him to take on a little at a time. Nott liked to refer to it as loaf-of-bread tactics. A man would not swallow a whole loaf, but if you gave it to him one slice at a time…

  He did wonder about the summons from the Archbishop but assumed it was traditional for all returned priests to meet with the head of the church. He hoped it would not result in some sort of presentation. He hated that sort of thing.

  He was surprised to find it was in the Archbishop’s office, a magnificent room that—apart from the religious tone of the paintings on the walls and the fact an altar, not a throne, was the centrepoint of the room—was remarkably similar to a king’s office. He was even more surprised to see that the Archbishop himself was waiting by a pair of beautiful gilded chairs, a small table laid with refreshments between them.

  ‘Father Nott! Welcome! And thank you for a magnificent life of service to your people and your church! Please, sit and join me. A cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you, your eminence,’ was all Nott could manage.

  The Archbishop helped him sit, then poured him tea and offered it to him carefully.

  Nott was at a loss for words. He had only seen the Archbishop a handful of times, and never this close. Archbishop Declan was a handsome, polished man with a fine head of silver hair. He was responsible for hundreds of priests, dozens of bishops, a huge amount of property and wealth. In terms of political power, he was able to wield as much as the strongest noble—if he chose. He was a tall, fit man, with wide shoulders and a powerful personality. Nott was somewhat overwhelmed by him.

  ‘This is too kind, your eminence,’ he said lamely, sipping his tea.

  ‘Nonsense. Do you think I give private tea partie
s to every returned priest? My dear fellow, I just don’t have the time!’ The Archbishop sipped his own tea and then put the cup down deliberately. ‘Tell me of Martil and Karia.’

  Nott nearly spilt his tea over himself.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  The Archbishop sighed. ‘I know of your attachment to the girl. But I must know if the man is up to the task. Will he do what needs to be done?’

  Nott looked at the Archbishop and was shocked, and frightened, to see the polished mask was gone. Instead his eyes burned into Nott’s and his face showed a man under immense strain.

  ‘I—I cannot say for sure, your eminence. He is a man on the edge. Tell him to do something and he is likely to go in the opposite direction. I gave him a glimpse of the path but only time can tell…’ Nott trailed off as the Archbishop’s face spasmed in a mix of anger and fear. ‘Your eminence, if you will permit me, what is it you have seen?’

  The Archbishop sighed. ‘I have seen nothing of what happens to Martil and Karia. But my fear is for the church. We are approaching a pivotal point in time. The church—indeed the world—could change forever. And not for the better. Fearpriests are infesting the continent. Berellia has fallen to them. I have been contacted by one Father Saltek, who tells me he is probably the last priest of Aroaril left in the country! He has been forced into hiding as the Fearpriests hunt down all who oppose them. Meanwhile, the church of Aroaril is threatening to splinter. There are those among us, even among my bishops, who feel we should wield more secular power, that we should not restrict ourselves to the spiritual needs of the people. Did you know that once, if a priest was not able to call upon Aroaril for magic, I would replace him, bring him here until he either regained Aroaril’s favour or left our service? Well, there are so many of them now, I cannot do it. I replace them where I can but their numbers are too great…Then there are those who complain at the growing number of women being inducted into the priesthood. They want it stopped. Never mind that we have always done so; never mind that no woman has ever needed to be removed from service—and never mind that those behind that particular campaign lost Aroaril’s favour years ago. The country, the continent, even the world needs the church more than ever and I fear…I fear we are not equal to the challenge. The Dark God is among us once more and we will not be the ones to stop him. In fact, some of our number will help him. It will fall to Martil and Karia, and others, to save us all. I just want to know if this man is able to do that.’