by Duncan Lay
‘I am not saying this to criticise you. I told you, I am concerned. If the Dragon Sword does not respond to you, then you will die within a year of first drawing the Sword. If that happens our hope dies as well.’
‘You’ll still have the others,’ Martil objected weakly. Although he did not like the idea of dying, he did not mind hearing that Merren thought him so important.
She waved away his objection. ‘You are the commander of the army. The men would follow you anywhere. You have the knowledge to match and beat Gello. And you are the Dragon Sword wielder. Without one by my side, many of the people will never accept a queen. Your loss would set us back for years, if not forever. Which is why we need you to be the true Dragon Sword wielder, both for my cause and for your life. Now, it is just the two of us here, so I ask you, what can I do for you?’
Into Martil’s mind, unbidden, came an image of Lahra writhing beneath him, only this time it was really Merren. He tried to force the image away and concentrate on her question.
‘We’re fighting a war, against an opponent who still outnumbers us massively. There is not much that I can do to avoid fighting and killing,’ he shrugged.
‘What if you cannot unlock the Dragon Sword’s latent magic? Can we win within a year?’
Martil laughed. ‘Impossible. It took many years to win the Ralloran Wars. We need time to build up our forces and reduce theirs, to the point where we can make our move.’
Merren leant forwards. ‘Then the Dragon Sword must see that you are changing, so it, too, can change. Can you stay behind, rather than go out to fight?’
Martil laughed bitterly. ‘Only if you want those men out there killed. Besides, nobody fights for a war captain who won’t risk his own life.’
She sighed. ‘Then can you promise me you will try to avoid killing too many more men?’
Martil, embarrassed and defensive, agreed, just to get out of there. It was frustrating. That cursed Sword just sat there, the dragon on its hilt doing nothing, judging him.
Not for the first time he found himself thinking death would be the only solution to this. But then he thought of Karia, and Merren.
‘I’ve still got most of a year left,’ he told himself.
It all changed again the next day, when Sendric and Conal returned from the town. The first Martil knew about it was when Barrett came running down to the training field to get him.
‘Keep going until I am back!’ Martil told them, then waved Rocus, Wime and Sirron over and followed the wizard up to the Queen’s audience cave.
They had barely sat down before the excited but plainly exhausted Count started speaking.
‘Your majesty, Sendric is ready to rise for you,’ he announced.
Stunned silence greeted his words, and Martil felt his stomach drop.
‘We have already spoken of how the town was incensed by the way Havrick’s men stole everything they could, raped and beat and killed the townsfolk before leaving. Then came the farmers, telling similar tales. Finally, to top it all, Havrick sent a company of cavalry into the town last night to take all the food they could find. Once again they killed those who tried to stop them. The town has had enough. The only guard is the company of pikemen and, fearing the anger of the people, they have stopped patrolling and spend their time in the keep. Even better, three squads left with the cavalry, to help search the forest. With our trained men in the town, hundreds will join us.’
‘And how many of those will know how to use a weapon?’ Martil said harshly.
Conal was the first to answer. ‘Numbers don’t matter. If we came up into the stables inside the keep, it would be easy.’
‘Easy?’ Merren reacted even before Martil.
‘We made contact with Gratt, one of my most trusted servants,’ Sendric said. ‘He has been inside the castle and reports that the pikemen put their trust in walls, thinking the townsfolk will never attack. They leave their long weapons out in the open, piled together where they would be close to hand. But they only have a few men on guard. If we got inside the walls, we could kill the sentries and secure their weapons while they slept. Men cannot fight unarmed.’
Merren turned to Barrett. This was just the move she had hoped for. ‘Could we do that?’
The wizard smiled. ‘Of course. With just a little luck, we could see the town back in our hands.’
The buzz of excitement that swept around the table was cut short by Martil. Angry that Merren had turned to Barrett instead of him for the first reaction, he decided to quash this foolishness.
‘And what happens after we have taken the town, eh? Havrick finds out and marches his men back to besiege us. If we hold him off, he just whistles up reinforcements. We might be able to hold the keep with five hundred men but Havrick would make a mess of the town while we did so. And even if those men could hold him off, how would they do when Gello arrives at the head of five thousand men? Our greatest advantage is the fact Havrick and Gello do not know where we are. By doing this, we throw away our biggest weapon.’
He leant back and poured himself a cup of water, as his words sank in around the table.
Merren was the first to answer him.
‘Nevertheless, we cannot win back a nation by fighting in the woods. We must confront Gello.’
Martil nearly choked on his water. ‘Your majesty, I have won back a nation! It took nearly ten years! Despite what the sagas say, you cannot just conjure an army out of thin air!’
‘We do not have years. The Dragon Sword is not responding to you yet. We cannot wait here, expecting it to do so. We must try and win this in one year, while we hope you discover within yourself the power to unlock its magic. Or we must be so far advanced that we are almost ready to take on Gello even without you.’
Martil could barely believe his ears. Barrett must be behind this. Use Martil while they could, so that when he died, the Queen would nearly be ready to take on Gello anyway.
As Martil sat there in stunned silence, Barrett thought he should move the discussion along. ‘So if we are to defend the town against Havrick, what would be the best way to do it? Martil, you know all about attacking and defending towns, what do you think?’
It was too much for him, coming from the man who obviously wanted to take his place.
‘Are you trying to be funny, wizard?’ Martil spat.
‘It was a reasonable question,’ Barrett said defensively.
‘Really? You yourself told me I was known as a Butcher of Bellic. Were you saying I know the best way to storm a town and kill women and children? That it gives me a far better idea of how to defend against them?’
‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it,’ Barrett snarled.
‘Stop this, both of you!’ Merren’s voice cracked like a whip across the table. ‘Martil, you go too far. Barrett is concerned about you, as are we all. Without your skills, we would not be here now. We need to take this town, because then we can parade the Sword and hoist my flag. Once we have done that, people will flock to us. The Sword means too much to them. And when we have enough men, perhaps you can avoid actually fighting. You are taking the lead in every fight—we need to stop you killing people.’
Martil had to stifle a bark of ironic laughter.
‘That could be a little difficult, given we are at war, and where the other side has all the advantages. The Dragon Sword has swung some of the battles for us. We would have lost more men if our opponents had not been terrified of facing me,’ he managed to say.
‘That is what I am talking about,’ Merren said. ‘We cannot fight the Ralloran Wars again. Nobody can afford that. We need to change our strategy. This will do it.’
Martil felt numb, almost empty inside. Was this his fate, to die in another useless war? Then, like a flame catching in an old fire, anger flickered into life. There had always been something within him that refused to lie down and give up. It was what had kept him alive this long. If he was going to die, then it was going to be at the time and place of his choosi
ng. If he had less than a year, then he would set about winning this war within the year. And if he died doing it, that was better than waiting in a cave for some bastard of a magic Sword to do it for him.
‘Fine. I’ll start planning and we’ll meet again tomorrow,’ he growled.
There was a ripple of relieved sighs around the table.
‘That is welcome news,’ Merren said warmly.
Everyone wanted to know what had happened to Sendric and Conal, and about the town and who they might have on their side, but Martil just wanted to get out of there. He used Karia as his excuse, and put her to bed even though she was not tired. What that meant was he had to read several lengthy sagas to her and then sing everything he could think of before she actually fell asleep.
By the time he was finished, he was thirsty and tired himself. He wandered back into the audience cave, after first checking everyone had left, and uncorked a bottle of wine. He had not drunk any alcohol for weeks but it would be the ideal thing to help him get to sleep, he decided.
‘I thought you might be back after we left,’ Merren said, stepping into the chamber. She had been waiting for him to return. The conflict within him was obvious. She had to give him some hope, or he might fly apart. That was why she was here. At least, that was what she told herself.
‘It appears as if you do not care if you live or die, as long as you win this war,’ she told him.
‘As ever, your majesty is right,’ Martil said stiffly. He did not want to talk to her about this. Anger was his best friend and companion now. Thinking about a happy future during a war just got you killed.
‘Martil, do you think I want you to die?’
The emotion behind her words stopped him, and without thinking, he sat down.
Merren walked over and sat beside him, placing a hand on his forearm. He could not help but notice that her fingers were long and graceful.
‘We know—I know—how important you are to this little rebellion. If we are to win, we need you. What I was trying to tell you was re-fighting the Ralloran Wars will not unlock the good man you are, the good man that Karia sees. It was the Ralloran Wars that did this to you in the first place. So if we cannot win this war the way you beat the Berellians, we must try something else. Taking this town and protecting it from Havrick will be a good start. And there will be so many men fighting that you will be needed to control the battle, not be the battle. That, and saving a town, may be the start of your road back.’
‘Saving a town to make up for destroying one?’ Martil could not keep the harshness out of his voice.
Her fingers tightened on his arm. ‘Listen. I know you cannot forgive yourself for Bellic. Nor should you. But it doesn’t have to rule your life. I cannot understand how badly you feel, but will allowing more people to be killed help your nightmares disappear?’
Martil shuddered at the thought. ‘They should never disappear. Nothing I do can ever make up for Bellic. At my heart I am no better than Havrick or Gello.’
She reached up and touched his face. ‘That is not true. My cousin appeared to be a good man, once. But then the Dragon Sword refused him. His life was forever changed by one fateful day, as yours was. He has faced being defined by that one action, as you have. But where he wants to wash that day away in a tide of blood, is always trying to pretend his mistakes never happened, you have tried to make up for them. And you will never let yourself forget what you did. That is the mark of a good man.’
He laughed, but there was no humour in that sound. ‘A good man? Just what is a good man? A dragon’s definition of it? Why didn’t they provide a list of instructions for this bloody Sword? If you save this many maidens and help this many old ladies, then you are a good man?’
‘I think,’ Merren said gently, ‘it goes deeper than that. We are the sum of all our actions. All of them. One mistake doesn’t mean you are a bad man. Every day is a new day, a chance to start afresh, an opportunity to wipe away the past.’
Her words sank in. He wanted to believe that, wanted to think that he could, somehow, atone for Bellic. But he felt nothing could wipe away that foul deed.
He felt something break inside him and suddenly the tears were running down his face, no matter how hard he tried to stop them. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to hold them back, but it was impossible. Then he felt Merren draw him into an embrace, pressing his head down onto her shoulder, her hand stroking through the hair on the back of his head.
It was the first time someone had held him like this for as long as he could remember. He felt himself relax and he straightened up a little, looking down into her face. She was wearing no make-up or powders, as a queen normally would, but then she did not need them. Her green eyes were soft with concern and her lips were parted slightly, as if to ask him a question. There was a slight scent of lemon about her, and he felt an almost overwhelming surge of desire for her. It was this, more than anything, that dried up his tears and he leant forwards and kissed her, feeling her soft lips part a little. Her embrace tightened, and pulled him in closer, and he felt all his worries, his guilt and fears, disappear. Nothing mattered but this.
Then the sound of someone clearing their throat made them jerk apart, as if stung.
‘Your majesty? Captain Martil?’ Barrett said mildly.
Martil found himself truly hating the wizard at that point.
‘We were just discussing strategy,’ Merren said coolly.
‘Indeed. I thought the captain was going to apprise us of his thoughts tomorrow?’ Barrett’s voice was impossibly calm, as if he had walked in and found the two of them comparing gold mine tallies.
‘I was just going to bed.’ Martil had kept his back to Barrett until he was sure he had wiped his face clean of tears and, more importantly, was able to stand without embarrassing himself, then he walked out, leaving the wine behind. He would not give the wizard any satisfaction.
Barrett did not say anything until they could hear Martil’s footfalls fade as he walked into the night.
‘Your majesty,’ he began.
‘Barrett. You are not my parent,’ Merren said coldly.
‘I would not wish to be. I only wanted to say that Martil’s mental state is still fragile. He could go either way, become the good man we want, or become so intoxicated with the power of the Dragon Sword in battle that it is forced to kill him.’
‘You are not telling me anything we have not already discussed,’ she said impatiently.
‘We also discussed what makes a good man. And we talked about having something good to live for. I thought that Karia would be sufficient for him but it seems you thought that was not enough. That you wanted to add yourself to that list.’
‘Wizard, you go too far,’ she warned.
‘And if I had not come in? Would you have gone too far with him?’
She stepped in close, eyes blazing, but he stood his ground. ‘Your majesty, we both know that you are destined to marry to secure your throne. He wants you to be a farmwife. A relationship with Martil will create more problems than it solves. He has to find his own way out of the guilt that envelops him.’
She stared at him.
‘Your majesty, you are a queen!’
‘And is a queen not allowed to be happy?’
‘A queen should be happy when her country is happy. Any other reason is immaterial. Look inside yourself. You know that, at his heart, Martil does not see you just as a queen! He sees you as a woman first, and you can never be that for him.’
Merren was silent for a long time and Barrett did not try to break her thoughts. He knew he could sum up how Martil was feeling, because it was how he felt about her. The difference, he told himself, was he would never be so crass as to act on his feelings without the Queen’s permission.
‘You are right,’ she said finally. ‘He does see me as a woman first, a queen second. And I do agree that it could cause more problems with him than it solves.’
‘Your majesty is wise,’ Barrett bowed.
>
‘Now leave me. We have much to do in the morning.’
She watched him go, then turned towards her own bed.
‘But you are wrong to think that I always want to be seen as a queen first, a woman second,’ she said, almost to herself.
19
Martil awoke the next morning and felt as if he should just pull the blankets back over his head. As well as everything else that had happened, he now had to come up with a plan to allow barely fifty men to capture a town, then hold off an army that numbered more than five hundred. He sat down with paper and ink and tried to work on something, but no matter how he looked at it, he had too few men to hold the walls of the town. And while he could probably hold the keep for as long as the food held out, then use its secret tunnel to escape Gello’s wrath, this was hardly the victory they were looking for.
He was interrupted by Karia, who wanted breakfast, then to know what they would be doing for the rest of the day. She was thrilled that he was back, and wanted to have some more time with him today. The other children in their little camp had told her they were going to play with their dads that day—she wanted the same.
‘Boring!’ she exclaimed, when he explained about the planning. ‘Can’t we go out into the woods, where I can show you my magic?’
‘I wish you would magic me up a plan,’ Martil muttered.
‘Let me! I can help!’ She instantly became excited.
Martil tried to explain, but she quickly lost interest and started drawing on the plan of Sendric that the Count had provided for him, while he talked about things such as directions of attack, defensive sallies and floating reserves.
‘Don’t do that!’ he began as soon as he realised she was drawing on his plan, and then he looked at the scribbles she had made.
She had drawn a line going along the main route from the gate to the keep, a route that twisted and turned through different streets to help break up an attack. Then she had drawn lines coming out from side streets to meet her first line.
‘Can I have another piece of paper then?’ she asked.