by Duncan Lay
‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir,’ Kesbury said woodenly.
‘We’re staying away, because otherwise you bully him,’ Milly said.
Martil saw the chance to release some anger and took it gratefully. ‘I bully him? Sister, he is a soldier, and I am his commanding officer! This isn’t the church, and I advise you to keep your nose out of it!’
Milly swelled with outrage. ‘Did you advise me to keep my nose away when I was saving your miserable life back in the capital, when you decided that seeing a whore was more important than saving the Archbishop?’
‘What’s going on?’ Karia asked, wandering over.
Martil was bubbling with rage, and knowing that Karia would now be asking him about hoers as soon as she could added guilt to the potent mix.
‘None of your business! Now go away!’ he roared at her.
‘But what did she mean…’
‘I said enough!’ Martil turned, his fist clenched.
Karia squealed in fear and sprinted away into the bushes.
Martil watched her go and realised his hand was raised against her. The anger drained out of him, replaced by horror and loathing. He spun about and ran, crashing through bushes and bouncing off trees, running blindly in an effort to get away.
Milly started after him, but Kesbury caught her arm.
‘You should let him go, Milly,’ he said softly.
The return to Sendric was worse than Merren had dreamed.
The people were used to seeing her return triumphant and had been confidently expecting her to be at the head of a Norstaline regiment, the famous Queen’s Rangers. At worst, they expected her to be bringing back a bard and a Berellian lord, the latter in chains.
So when she arrived back with just a bard—and barely half the men she left with—it sent the town into shock. Fear and rumour ran through the streets. She knew she would have to stop it, but there were things she needed to do first.
She made a point of seeing all the wives, starting with Louise, Wime’s wife, then moving on to Forde’s wife Gia. Romon had wanted to come in with her, but she had refused him. She would not use the grief of widows to make her look better for a saga. She cried with them when she described their deaths, how she would have been killed by the Berellian Champion if it was not for Forde’s sacrifice.
‘I want you to take the place on my war council that your husbands had,’ she told them.
‘I cannot!’ Louise was the first to refuse.
‘You must. All we have suffered for, all we have lost loved ones for—it is all threatened. I need your help and advice, when you are ready to give it.’
She had received their agreement, although she was not sure when they would be able to help. Nor did she notice Romon slipping in to talk to them after she had left.
‘Your majesty, we must talk to you.’ Quiller and Conal, who had looked after the north in her absence, had waited with ever-decreasing patience until she’d finished seeing every one of the wives and families of the men who had died—and that was just the men from Sendric. The ones from Gerrin and Berry had been sent for but would not arrive for a day or two.
After speaking to so many devastated women and children, she needed to sit for a moment. But it looked as though she was unlikely to get time alone. Merren made Quiller and Conal wait until she had at least poured herself a goblet of wine, then waved them to a seat.
‘We need to give the people some good news. By Aroaril, I need some good news! Tell me of Martil.’
Quiller cleared his throat.
‘Not much good news, I am afraid. He rescued the Archbishop and the Bishop but, when they went to arrest Prent, they discovered him with the Berellian ambassador. They were sacrificing a girl to Zorva.’
‘What?’ Merren gasped.
‘It gets worse,’ Quiller said grimly. ‘It seems Prent is now a Fearpriest, of sorts. He was able to call on the power of the Dark One and, in the ensuing battle, both the Archbishop and the Bishop were killed, and Prent escaped.’
Merren dropped her goblet. She ignored the spreading lake of wine on the tabletop. ‘So where are they now?’
‘They sent the priests and priestesses off in all directions, to tell their parishes that Gello is allied with Zorva, and to call for volunteers to fight the evil. Karia used her magic to get the new Archbishop and Bishop, as well as Martil and Kesbury, out of the capital. They will be travelling back here tonight.’
‘Prent a Fearpriest?’ Merren tried to make sense of this. ‘A new archbishop and bishop?’
‘Voted in. Archbishop Nott and Bishop Milly,’ Quiller said flatly. ‘I am afraid that neither of them is known. Obviously Nott is well regarded in a small part of eastern Norstalos but Milly was the former secretary to Archbishop Declan and would be familiar only to those in the church. A proclamation from either of them will not carry any of the weight that one from Declan or Gamelon would have carried. Some might take notice, just because it comes from the Archbishop of Norstalos, but I fear it will be easy for Gello to discredit them. As for Prent, he is new to his powers. But he must not be allowed to develop them. Already he has accounted for two of the most powerful men in the church. It cannot be long before he will be ordering pyramids built; pyramids topped with bloodstained altars to the Dark One.
‘There is a silver lining. It will be impossible to hide what he is for long: the Dark One insists on regular blood sacrifice. And when the people learn that their supposed Archbishop is a Fearpriest, they will rush to join us.’
‘Only we do not have enough time for that to happen,’ Conal interrupted. ‘I have the latest reports from Captain Nerrin, at the passes. Already two regiments of Gello’s men have arrived and more are coming in every day. Worse, Nerrin reports that he has destroyed perhaps half the supplies that Gello had stockpiled at the camp.’
‘Worse?’
Conal shrugged. ‘Nerrin was trying to ensure they could not lay siege to the passes. But, without supplies, Gello will not be able to stay in his camp for long. That would have been ideal if we had the rangers, to help us hold the passes. But now he must attack as soon as possible—and we cannot stop him. We have not revealed this to the people, for obvious reasons. The town council also wants to speak to you, to get assurances of safety for the town. The people are afraid for the future.’
Merren absorbed those blows and fought to keep her face impassive. When she was sure she had control of her voice, she asked: ‘Is there any good news?’
‘The training of the new men goes well. Mixed in with our experienced troops, they should hold,’ Conal offered.
Merren nodded. ‘You have both done well in my absence. I thank you for your work. Before I see the town council, I have something I must discuss with you. Barrett, with some support from Sendric, suggests we sacrifice the Rallorans for our own survival. Have them attack Gello’s camp and hope they do so much damage that he has to crawl away, licking his wounds, giving us enough time to build up a Norstaline army.’
‘I understand what Barrett is saying and it could work,’ Quiller said slowly. ‘But it is a move of desperation and will, ultimately, destroy what we are trying to build here. You have said it matters not where a man was born but what he does. Sending good men to their deaths because they were not born in this country will prove that a lie.’
Merren smiled. ‘Well said, Quiller. And you, Conal?’
‘My Queen, you know what I always say about a choice. On the one hand we have something we do not want to do, but on the other hand—ah, look, I don’t have another hand.’ He waved his stump theatrically and, despite herself, she smiled.
Then Conal stopped smiling and held up his remaining hand. ‘This is your only choice, my Queen. Men follow you because they know you care about what happens to them. You are not just using them to bring yourself land and riches. But to sacrifice so many men like that—people will not be able to trust you again,’ he said passionately.
Merren paused for a moment.
‘There is another
option. We could find ships, sail away from here. My feud with Gello has put everyone’s life at risk in the north. But without me…’
‘Without you, Gello and his Fearpriests will be free to rule!’ Quiller snarled. ‘You cannot walk away from here and leave the country to fall to Zorva!’
‘Your majesty, it would be a noble gesture—but it would not save one life and might cost many more,’ Conal agreed.
Merren stood and walked across to them. The thought of giving up and walking away was a hard one to contemplate—and the thought of seeing all these people suffer for her actions was harder still. Ultimately, though, she felt Quiller was right. Abandoning the people would not save them from Gello.
‘Thank you,’ she said gravely. ‘The time for hard decisions is here but there is a difference between hard decisions, and foolish ones. Send word to me when Martil arrives. I will be walking among the people, talking to them. They have to know they will be safe.’
‘Captain!’
Martil reflected that, whenever people called him captain, trouble followed. He had been sitting on a fallen log, lost in self-loathing. Somehow he managed to do exactly the wrong thing at the worst moment. Joining the army, sacking Bellic, falling in love with an untouchable queen and now doing the one thing he had promised never to do, raising a hand in anger to his daughter. Karia, his way back from the pit of despair. Karia, the one person who Nott had said could help him escape from his nightmares. Karia, the little girl he was already desperately afraid of losing. How could he have done that to her? How could he have been so stupid?
‘Captain!’
Kesbury’s voice cut through the mist in his head.
‘What is it, Sergeant?’ he snapped.
Nott had wanted to go and find Martil but Kesbury had insisted it was his duty. Kesbury had not really known Martil during the wars, except as his commander, although Martil had saved his life. He had spoken to him only a handful of times. Actually spending so much time with him, discovering the fabled Captain Martil was a man with many faults, had been difficult. But, in some ways, it made him more likeable.
‘Sir, we’re ready to go. We’re just waiting on you.’
Martil sighed. He felt a shame so great it threatened to overwhelm him. No wonder the Sword still refused to reveal its power to him. No wonder Karia preferred spending time with Nott. He had to face it, he did not deserve her. She was too good for him.
‘Sir, Karia knows it was an accident and you did not mean it. The Archbishop explained it to her. She says if you come back, you can read her a story.’ Kesbury’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact.
Martil closed his eyes as they suddenly burned. It took him a few moments to bring his voice under control.
‘I’ll be right there.’ He paused, knowing more had to be said. ‘And, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Forget what I said earlier about you and the Bishop. Although, I would suggest you need to be a little careful when we are back at Sendric. A bishop is greatly respected but there are many, especially older Norstalines, who are not so keen on women in the priesthood. They will seize on any gossip they can to undermine Milly’s authority, you understand?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Excellent.’ Martil decided to pretend that everything was normal. ‘Let’s go then.’
The others were waiting patiently by the oak tree, Karia had the staff ready and was bouncing up and down with excitement at the thought of showing off her magical abilities once more. She saw Martil and looked away nervously.
Martil felt the pain of that like a knife in the heart but took a deep breath and prepared to walk over, to fall to his knees and apologise to her, swear to all that was holy that he would never have hit her, never. But Nott stepped in front of him.
‘Not just yet,’ the old priest said softly. ‘She needs to maintain her concentration for this. You cannot make her think about anything else, understand?’
Martil opened his mouth to disagree but saw the sense in Nott’s words.
‘All right.’
‘Good. And, when we get out the other side, I need to talk to you about Karia,’ Nott whispered.
Martil nodded but, inside, he had turned to ice.
Gello made sure his tent was properly put up, and Lahra installed in a smaller version just behind, before joining his captains, the nobles, Prent and Ambassador Ezok. After she had helped save his life from the plot of that Ralloran butcher, he had decided to keep Lahra close. Besides, he wanted Merren to see Lahra by his side, when his cousin was dragged before him after her defeat. He had plenty of time. Regiments were still marching into camp, while the families of the nobles were being installed in a smaller camp, to the south, where they would be safely under his thumb. He had no intention of rushing there. The men had to be given time to recover from the hard march. Then the passes had to be scouted and, finally, his victory had to be savoured. He was on the cusp of success and there would be no more failure. Not again. After all the years of plotting and planning, it all came down to this: His overwhelming force against the pitiful rabble Merren had managed to scrape up. Certainly the Rallorans would be formidable but there were not enough of them to stop his army.
True, there were other problems on the horizon. His captains were muttering against him, and it seemed at least one of his nobles was already plotting his downfall. But these were small concerns. The important thing was to restore his honour, his legend forever enshrined—and the humiliation of the Dragon Sword’s rejection forgotten.
So when he swaggered into the huge tent, lined with servants and filled with his captains and nobles, he expected the treatment given to a conquering hero. Certainly the applause as he walked to his place at the head of the tent and sat down on a makeshift throne was welcome. But when he waved for the war council to begin, it all went wrong. Everyone had a complaint.
‘Sire, we are desperately short of supplies,’ Feld said immediately. ‘The Rallorans raided the camp when all the food had arrived, and after the guards had been lulled into a false sense of security. I took the liberty of having the guards flogged but the problem remains. Our regiments hurried here with only enough supplies for the march. Once all are here, we shall eat through the remaining supplies in three days, no more.’
‘What?’ Gello slammed his fist on the arm of the throne in frustration. Why was he surrounded by idiots?
‘We can be ready to assault in three days, sire, but it will mean a direct attack. We cannot afford any extravagant flanking manoeuvres that will leave our troops hungry and tired,’ Feld added.
‘And the march to Sendric? Do we have enough for that?’
‘Not really,’ Feld admitted. ‘But once through the passes we can split up, live off the land long enough to take the towns. And we can send some regiments back for more supplies then. But a frontal assault will cost us plenty of men. The Rallorans have the high ground, and can see what we are doing. Once it is obvious we are aiming a hammer blow at one pass, they will concentrate there.’
‘All the better!’ Gello grinned. ‘We can destroy the bastards in one effort. We’ll send in the criminals first, the militia behind them and then our regulars. It doesn’t matter if the first two thousand men are slaughtered, as long as our regulars are preserved. We’ll chase those vermin until we have exterminated the last of them from our country. Does anyone really think they can turn us back?’
‘No, sire,’ Feld agreed. ‘They can hurt us but they cannot stop us. The Dragon Sword has done nothing, so only divine intervention could save them!’
The assembly joined in Feld’s laughter—which was cut off as Gello leaned forwards, his face like thunder, and said, ‘What did you say?’
‘The Dragon Sword has done nothing, the only thing that can save them is divine intervention, sire,’ Feld repeated, mystified.
Gello leaned back, chewing on a nail. Feld was right about the Dragon Sword. It had not even been a factor. The Ralloran dog was obviously unworthy of
it and unable to unlock its magic. He had virtually forgotten about it and could safely put it out of his mind now. But Feld had also touched on the only thing that could stop him. He had not thought about divine intervention before, now it seemed everyone was mentioning it. He did not really think Aroaril would send fiery bolts from the sky to destroy his army but, still…This close to victory, he could not help but remember how he had been thwarted at the last moment before. He could not let that happen again, even if it meant a deal with dark powers. He became aware that everyone was staring at him.
‘Are there any real problems?’ he demanded, to cover himself.
Immediately the nobles began complaining about the way they were being treated, about their accommodation and about not getting their promised rewards.
Gello sighed. Sometimes he felt it would be easier if he just had them all killed.
‘Make a note of everything that is said,’ he ordered a scribe. ‘Ambassador, walk with me.’
Ezok was at his side in a moment but Gello waited until they were safely out of earshot.
‘I have been thinking about what you said back at the capital. This business with Aroaril—how sure are you that He is helping my cousin?’ Gello asked. ‘That is the only thing I fear now, for surely there is no other way for Merren to save herself.’
‘I am afraid there is a concern there, sire,’ Ezok said carefully. ‘After all, as your captain pointed out, the only thing that can stop you now is divine intervention. And Aroaril’s power is strong in the north. We had an agent inside the town but he was found and destroyed by a priest of Aroaril.’
‘An agent? Who?’
‘You remember, sire? The bard? The one we used to lead your cousin into Cezar’s trap?’
Gello nodded. He hesitated to go any further down this path, but the thought of failing again drove him onwards. ‘I do not want to have any concerns heading into this battle. The business with the nobles, the lack of supplies—they are easily controlled. But Aroaril…My cousin’s Ralloran dog freed many priests of Aroaril from the capital. What if they were to intervene in the coming battle?’