The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  ‘Excellent! Perhaps you weren’t concentrating enough, the first times. It does help if you practise,’ Barrett said wisely. He knew that if he acted as though this was all a lesson, they would believe him. It was one of the first things he had been taught as a novice.

  ‘Hey, does it do any more tricks?’ Conal asked.

  ‘It is the Dragon Sword. It does amazing things. Now, I suggest you stand guard quietly, while I rest. I may be tired, but I have just enough energy to give you an unpleasant skin condition, should you disturb me further.’

  Conal laughed. ‘I’ve already had most of them.’

  Duke Gello bit back an angry comment as Count Cessor droned on about his plans for adding to his ancestral lands. He had been forced to listen to something similar from Earl Worick and he had had enough. He knew these same men had laughed at him, years ago, watched him run out of the throne room after being refused by the Dragon Sword. If he had his way, they would all be dead now. But his mother had been right—they had proved useful over the past few years. And luckily for them the country was barely in his grip and he still needed them. But as soon as the country was his, these men would have outlived their usefulness. He would wipe out the shame of that day, wipe it out absolutely—and avenge himself on everyone who was there. He let that thought warm him as he let Cessor drone on. Not much longer, he told himself.

  It was almost relaxing to wander the streets of the capital. And it was remarkably easy. Barrett’s directions had been simple enough—turn left and then just keep riding until you reach the palace. What surprised Martil was the lack of guards. After all, this was supposed to be a city under martial law. First it had concerned him, then he remembered where he was, riding through the streets of the upper classes. The patrols and the militia would ignore these streets, safe in the knowledge the rich would not cause trouble. Instead they would be thickly clustered around the Poor Quarter, heavy on the gates and keeping a close eye on the markets and other areas where the public would gather. Here the road was wide and well paved, the houses large and set back from the road in big gardens, protected by high fences and tall gates. These were the homes of the rich merchants, as well as the city houses of the nobility. Most of these, either at Duke Gello’s advice or by their own sense of self-preservation, were at their country estates, so all he and Karia saw was the odd carriage rattling past, and the occasional wagon, going to make some sort of delivery.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Karia asked, as they waved to one of the few people they saw.

  ‘Trying to blend in. We’re just out for an afternoon ride. But what we really want to do is find the Queen, so we can work out how to rescue her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’m hoping the wizard can come up with something amazing,’ Martil shrugged.

  He was expecting to see the palace soon—and thinking the first sign of it would probably be some guards—when they rode around a corner and found themselves in a huge open square, at the centre of which was the palace. In better times it was a meeting place, probably a market, Martil guessed, but now there were only a handful of people enjoying its flowerbeds, its seats and its beautiful paving. Perhaps because the day was overcast but more likely, Martil felt, because there were at least fifty guards patrolling in small groups, while another score or so were drawn up in a tight block at the palace gates.

  He urged Tomon forward. Standing still would invite attention; they had to move slowly and cautiously. The guards were there to encourage people not to linger. And any who were not made uncomfortable by seeing soldiers march past all the time would no doubt receive closer inspection. Martil saw with relief that the nearest guards had decided they were just a father and daughter out for a nice ride in the afternoon and walked past without stopping them.

  ‘One day we’ll live in a palace like that,’ Karia declared, looking at the magnificent, marble-clad structure.

  ‘I couldn’t afford it. You’ll have to marry a nobleman,’ he joked.

  ‘No, you’ll have to marry the Queen,’ she told him.

  Martil could not help but laugh, and their laughter got them past another patrol. The soldiers gave them a good look but, reassured by the banter, let them ride on. Bringing Karia had been a stroke of genius, Martil congratulated himself. There was no way an armed man on a horse would have been allowed to get this close to the palace otherwise. He rode slowly around the square, trying to keep one eye on the palace and the other on the various guard patrols. He saw nothing but problems. There was only one gate to the palace and it was very well guarded. As for the walls, they were high, too high to even think about scaling—and they were also well watched. Everywhere he looked, there were guards staring down. Getting the Queen out of there would be near impossible. He completed his circuit of the square then steered Tomon over towards a patch of garden, which consisted of a small piece of lawn, several benches and some flowerbeds in full bloom. He had no idea what they would do if they saw the Queen; the guards were just too watchful. He guessed it would be even worse at night.

  ‘Does the Queen come out often?’ Karia asked.

  ‘Not any more,’ Martil predicted. ‘Do you want to pick her some flowers, in case she does come out?’ He doubted they would see anything useful here but it was always best to be prepared—and a bunch of flowers would add to their disguise.

  They stopped, and while Tomon gave the lawn a thoughtful munch, Martil helped Karia to pick a large handful of fragrant blooms. Almost before Karia had a chance to say she was hungry, Martil dug out some dried fruit in honey. He could not help but reflect on how he seemed to have fallen into a pattern now. He was finding it hard to remember how life had been before he had Karia. It seemed strange to think his biggest concerns during the day had been finding enough wine and recalling the words to a silly song.

  ‘I’m bored. Can we go now?’ Karia asked.

  ‘Soon,’ Martil said distractedly. He looked again at the walls. Unless the wizard could fly them in, or knew of a secret passage, there was no rescue possible from the palace. He was about to lift Karia up onto Tomon when a series of trumpets sounded from inside the palace.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Karia demanded, twisting around in his arms.

  ‘Perhaps we might get to see the Queen after all,’ Martil suggested hopefully.

  Sure enough, the two squads of guards by the gates smoothly wheeled apart, forming up in twin columns to either side. The gates opened inwards, allowing a dozen cavalry to ride out. Heavy cavalry, Martil noticed. They wore shiny breastplates over their mail, tall red plumes on their steel helmets and each carried a long lance with the same red pennant hanging from the tip. They would be a formidable force, Martil judged.

  These were followed by a beautiful carriage, its fine woodwork etched in gold, the royal arms of Norstalos—a dragon holding a sword—engraved on its door. Eight perfectly matched white horses drew the carriage, which was followed by another dozen heavy cavalry.

  ‘If we get the chance, give the flowers to the Queen and tell her we’re with Barrett. Ask her where she will be tomorrow, so we can rescue her. But don’t say anything if any of the soldiers are near,’ Martil said urgently.

  Karia nodded nervously. ‘But I get shy sometimes. What if I’m too scared to say something?’

  Martil reflected that would truly be ironic. He also kicked himself mentally for not writing something down, which could have been passed over. ‘Just try. If you can’t, it doesn’t matter,’ he said, hoping that would prove to be true.

  Carefully, not riding at the slow-moving procession, they took up position close to where the carriage would pass, although he noted few of the other townsfolk in the square were doing so.

  ‘Your majesty!’ Martil shouted, lifting Karia up onto his shoulders. ‘Hold up the flowers,’ he hissed.

  Karia waved the somewhat bedraggled blooms, which included what Martil suspected were a few weeds as well.

  The escort rode past, staring disdainfully at him
. Now the carriage was about to pass, and with it perhaps their best opportunity.

  ‘Your majesty!’ he roared.

  ‘Stop the carriage!’ someone ordered and, almost reluctantly, the procession came to a halt, the carriage door almost right in front of Martil and Karia. He lifted her down from his shoulders.

  ‘Go on,’ he urged, but she hesitated, plainly unnerved by the big horses and the large carriage.

  Then the Queen opened the carriage door and looked out. Martil found he could not take his eyes off her. It was not that she was the most beautiful woman he had seen. Her nose was a shade too long, her brows a touch too thick, her chin a fraction too square. But her eyes were a hypnotic green and there was just something about her that called to him. He could not pinpoint why, but looking at her made him feel as though he had taken a blow to the stomach.

  ‘The Queen will allow your daughter to present her bouquet,’ one of the ladies-in-waiting called out. ‘Swiftly now!’

  Karia wanted nothing more than to hide behind Martil’s leg. But he had said it was important to get a message to this woman. She looked strange—her dress was much too shiny and she seemed to be wearing far too many jewels. Karia could not help but see some hanging from the woman’s ears. Surely they would hurt! She concentrated on them, took a deep breath and walked towards the carriage. I can just hand up the flowers and run away, she thought.

  A footman jumped down from behind the carriage and raced up to release a set of steps from under the carriage. Karia shrank away from him, because he was a strangely-dressed man, wearing the same colours as the coach, but he just bowed low and backed off. The Queen held out her hand and before she knew what she was doing, Karia climbed the steps, with a little difficulty, then held out the assorted petals and weeds that made her bouquet.

  ‘They are…unusual, my dear,’ the lady next to the Queen said as she held out a hand for the flowers. But Karia held onto them.

  The Queen gave her an uncertain smile and spoke for the first time. ‘What is your name?’

  For a second she wanted to run, but Martil had said this was important. And she should help him. After all, he was getting better at stories and always seemed to have time to play catch.

  ‘I’m Karia,’ she said softly.

  ‘And is that your father?’

  Karia was about to tell the story, then remembered how people seemed to get angry when she said it all. Besides, it might take too long to explain everything, so she decided to say what she needed in a rush. ‘He’s the greatest warrior in the world. He’s here with the Dragon Sword and your wizard Barrett to rescue you but he doesn’t think he can get you out of the palace.’

  The Queen’s eyes widened dramatically and the ladies with her gasped. The Queen smiled again, and this time it was much warmer.

  ‘You are a very brave girl, Karia. Let him know that I shall announce where I am going to be tomorrow. Tell them to come and get me tomorrow, understand?’ She said it urgently. ‘Can you remember that?’

  Karia smiled. She could remember everything. ‘Of course I can!’ she said, almost scornfully.

  The Queen’s smile broadened, became beautiful. ‘Good girl. And now I should take your flowers.’

  Karia handed them over, and the Queen immediately and carefully gave them to one of the ladies with her.

  ‘We shall see you tomorrow, Karia,’ the Queen nodded.

  Karia clambered back down the stairs and raced over to Martil.

  He picked her up but dared not ask her what she had said to the Queen. Not with more than twenty troopers within hearing.

  ‘Drive on!’ the Queen commanded loudly, as the footman packed away the steps. ‘But I have changed my mind. We shall visit the tomb of my father today. I shall go to church tomorrow, instead.’

  With that the carriage door was shut and the procession rumbled into movement again. Martil could see the Queen watching him closely as they clattered past. He waved, as did Karia, until the carriage was gone, then he lifted her back onto Tomon. Across the square, people were drifting away, and those that were staying were getting renewed attention from the guards. It was time to go, he saw.

  ‘What did you say to her?’ Martil asked as he rode Tomon back the way they had come, trying to go as fast as he could without looking as if he was going fast at all.

  ‘I told her what you said, how Barrett had sent us and I also said how you were the greatest warrior in the world, so you would rescue her. She said she would give us a message and to come and get her tomorrow.’

  ‘You did?’ Martil asked, feeling absurdly pleased at being described that way. ‘You did really well. I’m so proud of you,’ he told her.

  ‘Did you hear the message she gave? Did you understand it?’

  Martil hesitated. ‘I heard it. I just hope that Barrett knows what the Queen’s words mean.’

  He did. As soon as Martil was finished recounting the story, Barrett laughed.

  ‘She’s a clever one, Queen Merren. As soon as you said you were with me, she must have thought up a way for me to know her location tomorrow. All in a few heartbeats! There’s no doubt she’ll be a great ruler of this country, if we can only get rid of Gello and his pack of dogs. Tell me, how did she look?’

  ‘Where’s the church?’ Martil asked a little testily. The tone of Barrett’s voice when talking about the Queen annoyed him, especially his last question. It was as if the relationship between them was more than just ruler and adviser.

  Barrett shrugged. ‘It’s the Church of the Sun. It’s just in the next street. It’s the closest one to the palace and the one the royal family has always used.’

  ‘Well, we need to get there this afternoon and look around,’ Martil said.

  ‘Hold your horses!’ Conal had been silent through the tale but his voice boomed out now. ‘You said she’s being escorted by a squadron of heavy cavalry, right? Am I the only one that thinks trying to get her out of the hands of a squadron of Gello’s picked troops is crazy?’

  ‘Why is it crazy?’ Karia asked curiously.

  Conal shrugged. ‘Fair enough. It must be just me.’

  ‘Not as crazy as trying to get her out of the palace from in front of hundreds of troops,’ Martil pointed out. ‘But we need to plan this.’

  ‘It has to be,’ Barrett insisted. ‘We must rescue the Queen! The fate of the country rests upon us.’

  Martil refused to answer this; portentous statements always set his teeth on edge.

  Barrett, meanwhile, was infuriated by what he saw as Martil’s lack of respect for what they were doing. Did he not understand how important this was?

  ‘Perhaps we should get going,’ Conal said to fill in the silence.

  The Church of the Sun was an ancient building, its old stones weathered by time. It had been one of the city’s first stone buildings. Obviously there had been a need for more room as time went on, and extensions had been added onto the sides, their newer stone a glaring contrast with the old, original work. But Martil was more interested in the fact there were no guards.

  ‘Why aren’t there any guards around?’ Conal asked nervously, echoing Martil’s thoughts.

  ‘Don’t you know anything?’ Karia said disdainfully. ‘Churches are always open, and always protected by Aroaril. Thieves get left out for the militia to collect, frozen to the spot, if a priest catches them.’

  ‘Well, that’s me told,’ Conal grinned.

  Late in the afternoon, on a weekday, there were few people inside. Like most churches, it had the familiar smell of dust and wood polish, its long wooden pews smoothed to a shine by the hands and backsides of generations of worshippers. Being an old church, it had the traditional layout, with the altar up front and small rooms off to the side, where the priest could meet privately with people who had problems. Martil felt the familiar guilty surge when he walked into a church, then forced his mind back to the problem at hand.

  ‘Where will the Queen go?’

  ‘She’ll come in, accom
panied by her ladies-in-waiting. The guards will surround the church but are unlikely to come inside. Armed troops are forbidden within the church by tradition,’ Barrett said thoughtfully. ‘But they will watch both exits. How can a rescue be effected then?’

  Martil looked around. How to get someone out unseen? It was impossible. The guards would not leave unless the Queen walked out of the church…therefore the only way to get them to leave was to make them think the Queen had walked out of the church. It reminded him of a trick he and Borin had tried, many years ago.

  ‘We’ll find a prosti—I mean, a woman of the night, and bring her in here early in the morning. Then we wait in one of the rooms until the Queen arrives. They change outfits and the escort rides back to the castle, where the pretend Queen takes to her bed. She takes off the Queen’s robes, dresses as a servant and escapes. They’ll think the Queen somehow got out of the palace, so they’ll be looking in the wrong place. By the time they discover the Queen is gone, we’ll already have left through your oak tree.’

  Barrett tested the plan for flaws. It had the virtue of simplicity. Also, he did not have anything better. ‘How did you come up with that idea?’ he asked, to give himself time to think some more.

  Martil laughed. ‘It was actually my mate Borin’s plan, years ago. We smuggled some—women of the night—into barracks disguised as soldiers. The officers never guessed a thing!’

  Conal roared with laughter, but Karia looked as if she was going to start asking questions, so Martil moved swiftly on.

  ‘We need to find a woman who can be hired for money who looks a bit like the Queen. Do you have any ideas?’ he asked Barrett, who was still trying to think of a better plan to rescue the Queen, one that involved himself doing something impressive.

  Barrett flushed as he understood Martil’s question, then realised what that might look like. He took a moment to compose himself. This had been occupying his thoughts ever since Martil had mentioned exchanging the Queen for a prostitute. ‘I do know one who looks like the Queen,’ he admitted.