by Duncan Lay
‘Enough!’ Merren thundered, and Barrett, who had been about to fire back another barbed comment, subsided.
‘Martil, let us hear what this man has to say, then we can decide whether it was worth torturing him for. I understand how you must feel about the Berellians and the lies this bard has been spreading but, as we have said before, the Dragon Sword expects more of its wielder.’
Martil acknowledged her rebuke, but he did not regret beating the man. It was his fault the dreams had come back. His fault the whole country hated him. These Berellians were evil, and they deserved everything they got. He could not feel a shred of sympathy for the bastard.
‘Tell the Queen what you told me,’ he instructed the bard.
The man just sat there, cradling his hands in his lap.
‘Show some respect to the Queen or I’ll show you the colour of your own guts!’ Kesbury yelled at him, giving him a slap over the head at the same time.
‘And they wonder where the Ralloran reputation for brutality came from.’ The voice that came out of the bleeding, bruised man seemed impossibly silver, smooth and rich, rolling across the room so that everyone could hear it.
He threw his head back and stared directly at the Queen, before letting his gaze sweep across the table. He started to rise, but Kesbury grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him back into the chair.
‘Let me stand, curse you! Am I to be made to sit like a dog? If I am to speak, then I will do so on my feet, as a man should.’
‘Let him stand. But I warn you, bard, this is not a performance. I want to hear the truth. Tell me what you know and I promise you will not be harmed any more,’ Merren said sternly.
The bard slowly stood and, when Kesbury made no further move to stop him, offered a deep and elaborate bow.
‘Your majesty, allow me to introduce myself. I am Warnock, member of the Berellian Council of Bards and twice winner of the Bardic World Championships—’
‘I didn’t know there was a world championship for bards,’ Conal interrupted.
‘Only Berellians are allowed to enter,’ Martil said sourly.
‘Do you want me to talk or not? If so, pray refrain from interrupting!’ Warnock said dramatically.
‘Get on with it,’ Kesbury hissed.
Warnock held up his broken hands. ‘I have been shown only too well the penalty for not co-operating with your Ralloran barbarians, your majesty,’ he announced. ‘So here is what I said to them. Doubtless they could have informed you but wished instead to parade their handiwork to you, much like small, ignorant children want to show their mothers a crude painting they have done.’
Kesbury made a rumbling noise in his throat.
‘You can talk to us, but I would advise you to stop the insults. You are not in a position to make them, and if you wish to earn my protection, you need to persuade me you are worthy of it,’ Merren told him sharply. She had not wanted to see him tortured but this was the man who had been spreading lies about her and inciting her own people to turn on her.
Warnock bowed once more. ‘Your majesty, please accept my humblest apologies. The pain from my wounds has made me forget my manners. I was sent to Norstalos, along with many of my brethren, because King Gello requested our presence—’
‘King Gello? He is not worthy of the title!’ Barrett sniffed.
Merren waved him to silence and, after a pause and a disdainful look at Barrett, Warnock continued.
‘He wanted to hear the Berellian version of the Saga of Bellic. It seems he felt the saga traditionally performed by his own bards was not providing the full truth to the people. Thus he asked myself and my colleagues to perform this saga to as many people as possible. Your own bards, poor performers that they are, were also given the true saga to recite, as well as the news that King Gello wanted spread to the people. I was sent north, to speak to the towns of Gerrin and Berry, before your Rallorans had a chance to destroy them.’
‘I can assure you, the towns are both alive and well—and grateful to be free from Gello,’ Merren told him forcefully.
‘Ah yes, your majesty, but was it the Rallorans that freed them? I think not. Had they broken through the walls, then the story might be quite different.’ Warnock smiled.
‘I see little here that is as important as the news we learned earlier…’ Merren began.
‘Tell her, bard,’ Martil ordered.
‘Do you mean the news about the rest of the Butchers of Bellic being dead, and you being the only person responsible for that massacre still alive?’ Warnock said slyly.
Kesbury drew back his fist but Martil held up his hand and Kesbury stopped.
‘Is this true? The rest of them are dead?’ Merren asked.
‘Thankfully. Only one such murderer remains…’ Warnock began but felt Kesbury’s hand on the back of his neck and subsided.
‘Martil, did you know about this before?’ Merren asked.
‘It’s not important.’ Martil shrugged it off. ‘I haven’t seen any of the other men since…since that day. Anyway, bard, get to the interesting part.’
‘What you see as interesting, and what I think is interesting, are, happily, two quite different things,’ Warnock said grandly but then Kesbury jabbed him in the back, and he continued.
‘King Gello has had us performing to his new recruits, in particular two regiments he has high hopes for. The first is a regiment of militiamen. After the successful use of militia against his own forces, King Gello saw the potential in these men. The second is a regiment of criminals. Killers by vocation, it is hoped they can counter the murderous Rallorans that they will face. Finally, the bards are performing to both the rangers and the archers, showing these loyal Norstalines that their best hope lies with joining King Gello to resist the ravages of the vicious Rallorans. Now we are taking these a step further. To help persuade the regiments, the bards will be backed by a speech from the Lord of Bellic himself, the sole survivor of that hideous massacre upon an innocent…’
‘Shut up!’ Kesbury bawled at him.
‘This is the interesting part,’ Martil said urgently, producing a set of scrolls. ‘Here are the scrolls we took off this bard. One is the saga, that is unimportant. The second is the news that Gello wants read out, that is also unimportant. But the third is a list of places to be visited by the Lord of Bellic. In two days’ time he will go to the ranger barracks and meet with them to help ensure their loyalty. Even better, he will be accompanied by a Norstaline bard. Warnock admitted that the soldiers do not want to hear sagas from Berellians, so they have to use Norstalines on their own soldiers. Better again, it seems some of these Norstaline bards are performing not for love of gold or Gello, but because they are threatened with imprisonment or worse if they do not behave!
‘My Queen, you see the possibilities here. We can get to these barracks, get rid of the Lord of Bellic and win over an entire regiment of men! Meanwhile, we can find a Norstaline bard, perhaps even bring him back here, allow him to see what we are doing. Then we can start making appearances of our own at villages around the country! Imagine that—Barrett’s powers allow you, me and the bard to appear at a village. He performs the saga he has written about your New Norstalos, you inspire the village with a quick speech and we could return with fifty recruits!’ Although Martil wanted the Lord of Bellic, wanted to catch and kill him so badly he could taste it, he doubted Merren would agree to a plan with the Lord’s death as its aim. But if he could dangle the bait of a regiment of loyal men, as well as a bard who could sing her praises, surely that would appeal to her. He added one last temptation. ‘The rangers—were they not your regiment?’
Merren leaned back in her chair. ‘They are—or were—known as the Queen’s Rangers, and from their ranks were drawn the Royal Guard. They will be still commanded, possibly, by Kay, the man who was my guard captain.’ She tried to keep her excitement from showing; the idea of appearing in a different village each day, using her own bard to win over the people and bring them back to the safe
ty of the north…But she had learned from bitter experience over the years not to rush into a decision. Something that was presented as a wonderful idea often turned out to be something worse. She decided to give herself some time to think about it. ‘Yes, this regiment is traditionally loyal to the crown but they did not stop Gello when he took over the palace…’
‘How could they? Against a full company of heavy cavalry? They would have been massacred! But now there is the chance to bring them over to our side. An entire regiment of men. And they are bowmen—I tell you, a thousand bowmen and we can hold those passes for years against Gello!’ Martil’s face was alight with enthusiasm. ‘Meanwhile you can win over the rest of the country, using Barrett’s skills and a bard!’
‘But how do we get them back? I cannot open a gateway for one thousand men—it is not possible,’ Barrett argued, although not as strongly as he might. After all, the Ralloran oaf was actually giving him due credit.
‘We march them back. They’re rangers, after all. They can split up into companies and re-form at the passes.’ Martil dismissed the wizard’s question. ‘Just think—we arrive just as the bard is preparing to tell his lies to the rangers. You tell them the truth, show them Forde and Wime and whoever’s in charge from Berry and we take out the Lord of Bellic, who is obviously the man they are relying on to turn men to their side. Our army is doubled at one stroke!’
‘You cannot attack the Lord of Bellic! If you do that—’ Warnock shouted, then stopped suddenly.
‘You see, the bard is against this plan. This tells me I am right!’
‘But the risk is great. What if the men do not turn? Many of the officers will be Gello’s men. And what if there are guards with this Lord of Bellic?’ Merren pondered aloud.
‘Of course there will be guards, but with myself, Sergeant Kesbury and his squad, we can take care of any Berellians they have brought along for protection. As to the rangers—isolate the officers and the men will just sit there. It is risky but the prize is worth it! When we first met you told me yourself, Barrett, that the rangers are loyal to the Queen and not trusted by Gello.’ Martil decided to appeal to the wizard. He had complimented the man, the least Barrett could do was offer his support.
‘Is that right?’ Barrett asked Warnock, not wanting to put his seal of approval on a plan from Martil just yet. Especially as Merren seemed a little unsure…
‘Why are you asking him? He’s a lying Berellian!’ Martil protested. Could the wizard do nothing right?
Warnock stared disdainfully at Martil. ‘Even a simpleton could see that the Lord of Bellic is only being asked to speak to these men because they need more reassurance than a bard alone can provide. But I would not expect a Ralloran to understand—’
‘Shut up, you filthy little liar!’ Kesbury only restrained himself from hitting Warnock with great difficulty, instead giving the man a warning shove.
Merren held up her hands.
‘So we have a choice. We can try and free the true Archbishop, as well as the loyal priests, then use them to inspire people to join us, or we attack a bard and some Berellian Lord, with a full regiment of rangers and, perhaps, a bard as the prize. After all, the bard we capture might be one of those eager to help Gello in return for gold. But what then? Even if we have an extra thousand men, are we ready to take on Gello?’
‘Well, obviously not,’ Martil admitted, ‘but those thousand bows will buy us plenty of time to win over more to our cause.’
‘How? Through the Dragon Sword—the one that’s not working, nor is likely to work any time soon?’ Barrett sneered.
‘Through the bard we rescue, as I have been saying!’ Martil exclaimed.
‘The bard that probably won’t want to have anything to do with us?’
‘Good to see you two are able to work together so well,’ Conal commented dryly.
There were a few chuckles at that, although not from Barrett or Martil.
‘We are not getting anywhere with this,’ Merren said heavily. ‘I would like you all, now, to give me an indication which plan you want to pursue. I will think about it and we will meet again tomorrow to decide. I don’t think this bard needs to be here to find out what our plans are. Sergeant, please take him down to the cells. But first, Father Quiller, could you see to his wounds?’
Quiller nodded. ‘Of course, your majesty. There is no need to let him suffer further.’
The old priest walked across to where Warnock sat, then closed his eyes and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘Don’t touch me, you old charlatan! What do you creatures want to do to me now?’ Warnock shrieked, jerking away from Quiller.
‘I will not hurt you, my son,’ Quiller said gently.
‘Well, I don’t want your help! I will take these wounds back to my country and show them what sort of people the Norstalines are. You are quick to tell everyone how wonderful you are, how powerful, how blessed—and then you do this to unarmed men!’ Warnock waved his hands, each with three broken fingers.
‘Father, heal him and be done with it,’ Merren said urgently. She had no desire to have so-called proof of her brutality peddled around Berellia.
‘Stay away from me!’ Warnock tried to avoid Quiller but Kesbury leaned forwards and held him in place.
‘What are you doing to me! Leave me alone!’ Warnock’s voice held a true note of panic.
Several of those around the table, including Barrett and Merren, turned away from the sight of his fear but Martil stared closely. The man he had interrogated had been stubbornly defiant and barely even made a noise when Kesbury had broken six of his fingers. It was only when he was told his index fingers and thumbs would be next to go—completely ruining his ability to play the lyre—that he had begun to talk. Even then there had been no fear.
‘I beseech thee, Aroaril, grant me the power to heal this man,’ Quiller intoned softly, laying a hand on Warnock’s shoulder.
Karia was watching intently. Magic of all types fascinated her, and she had always liked to see Father Nott perform his healing magic. But nothing seemed to be happening.
‘What’s going on? Should he ask a bit louder?’ she asked Martil, in a quiet voice that penetrated across the silent room.
Quiller stepped away from Warnock, who was cringing away from him.
‘Is that it? May I leave now?’ the bard asked nervously.
‘What happened? He has not been healed,’ Merren said.
Quiller gazed down at the man with a mixture of pity and revulsion. ‘It seems He does not think you are worthy of healing.’ The old priest shrugged. ‘I suggest we call a healer, who can splint the fingers and prepare a poultice for the bruises.’
Warnock looked up at him in disgust. ‘I told you to leave me alone. But did you listen? Now let me leave this den of torturers and brutes.’
Quiller’s face hardened. ‘Take him away, Sergeant. Put him in a secure cell.’
‘My pleasure, Father.’ Kesbury nodded, grabbed Warnock by the collar and hustled him away.
Martil caught a glimpse of the bard’s face: it wore a look of relief and fear. It was so strange he almost commented on it. But nobody spoke until the door shut behind the pair of them.
Quiller took his seat with a deep sigh. ‘This, as much as anything else, tells me we need to rescue the Archbishop. It is rare for Aroaril not to grant me the power to heal. The only thing I can think of is that the man has come into contact with dark powers. There have been rumours that the Berellians, or at least King Markuz and his top officials, have been dabbling with worship of Zorva. This bard may have been in contact with them. That Gello has chosen such as these as his allies is of deep concern to me. If Gello has made a deal with Berellia, then he has as good as made a deal with the Dark One and we shall need the church to protect us. Aroaril is always careful with the power He grants His priests and priestesses but the Dark God has no such qualms. If, Aroaril forbid, a Fearpriest gets on the loose here…I feel we must act fast. The priests of the
Dark God are able to wield enormous power. Even the likes of Barrett may not be able to stand against them.’
‘Come now! You can’t be serious!’ Barrett smiled. ‘No man alive can match me at magic!’
‘Really? When the man you are facing does not have to worry about using his own energy? Every sacrifice to their foul god that they make—and believe me, they are always covered in gore—gives them power. The magic released by that person’s death is available for them to use however they want. How can you fight that?’
Barrett leaned back silently in his chair though his posture and expression conveyed he was still supremely confident of besting a Fearpriest in magical combat.
‘Should we not call the bard back, question him further on this?’ Martil demanded. He could feel the mood of the room turning back; any sympathy for Warnock after Quiller’s failure to heal him had vanished.
‘I do not want to see that poor soul tortured further. I will pray on this, but I think it would be better to wait until we have the Archbishop back with us before I talk to the bard. Meanwhile, he can do us no harm while locked in a cell.’
‘Then I take it your vote is for rescuing the Archbishop,’ Merren said calmly.
‘It is, your majesty. I apologise for making such a strong statement—’
‘No, it is the sort of argument I want to hear. Now, are there are any others?’
‘Before we vote, I want to remind everyone what an extra thousand bowmen means to this rebellion,’ Martil said immediately. ‘Father Quiller’s argument is persuasive, but it misses one vital point: we can rescue the Archbishop at any time. We have one chance, and one chance only, to get rid of the man who is spreading lies about us down south, and at the same time win over a full regiment of troops to our side. Once we have done that, we can go after the Archbishop. We can travel around to other towns and villages, sowing the seeds of rebellion around the country. If the bard we capture along with the Lord of Bellic will not help us, then we find one who will! We can do all that, because we will be protected. I know I have disappointed people, by not being able to unlock the latent magic of the Dragon Sword. But this could give me the time I need! With the rangers, and the Rallorans, those passes will be impregnable. You and your families will be safe. But if we go after the Archbishop first, everything we have won is under threat.’