Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  ‘And if I do not do this?’

  ‘Then you will either flee or be destroyed. There is no way to defeat Gello’s army in the time you have left,’ Nott said calmly.

  Merren stood abruptly, breaking the spell between them.

  ‘I never thought to hear such a thing from the Archbishop! You do know what you are asking of me?’ Her mind, her emotions, were in a whirl. She was part horrified, part terrified—and somewhere there was a frisson of excitement.

  ‘I would not ask it unless I knew there was something between you both,’ he said.

  ‘You presume too much!’ Merren snapped back.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘Although I do know there is something. Ultimately, you are a woman and he is a man. Whether you are what the other needs, whether you are meant for each other, I cannot answer. Only you two can. I have told you what I must—that only through Martil can you defeat Gello and only through you can Martil become the man who can lead you to that victory. What you choose to do with that information is up to you.’

  Merren laughed harshly. ‘You do not leave me much of a choice!’

  ‘On the contrary!’ Nott thundered. ‘You have a choice! You can flee this country, try to escape to Rallora, or Aviland, or Tetril, rally support against Gello there. You can hope Gello’s embrace of the Dark One so horrifies Norstalos that he loses his support here. Putting your trust in Martil does not guarantee you victory. You could save him and still lose the battle; you are massively outnumbered.’

  ‘I wish you would give me a straight answer!’ Merren snarled at him.

  ‘Life is about making choices, and having the courage to live with the choices you have made. You can stay and fight, or run and hide. But if you want to stay and fight, then Martil is your only hope of success. You are the Queen. Nobody can make that decision for you. I am sorry to put you in this position. I wish we had met in the capital, where we could have both spent our lives working to improve the lot of the people. But we have met like this and I have given you the best advice I can. Do with it what you will.’

  Merren wanted to rage at him, wanted to grab the old man by the shoulders and shake him. But instead she took a deep breath.

  ‘Leave me now. I have much to think about.’

  Nott bowed. ‘Of course. Incidentally, I must thank you for also taking care of my granddaughter, Karia. She speaks most highly of you.’

  Merren inclined her head, not trusting herself to speak, and Nott bowed again, before walking out.

  Outside, he sighed. He regretted having to do that to her. Merren was a fine young woman, and had held this rebellion together. He would never have wanted to force her to do something against her will. But time was running out; he had to nudge her down a path she was already considering.

  This was why Aroaril could never guarantee victory. He was relying on people and, more than that, relying on people’s emotions and relationships. Nott knew there was a power in love but to entrust the fate of the whole world to it? He was glad he was just his God’s instrument.

  Merren had to force her mind to consider Nott’s words. Part of her wanted to ignore everything; to stay and fight but find another way to defeat Gello. The thought of running, of leaving Gello triumphant—she had flirted with the idea but now could not bring herself to do it.

  She had always known that she and Gello were locked in a competition for Norstalos, a competition where there could be but one victor. She had never imagined the cost to the country would be as great, of course. That price was the one thing that made her think of running away. Her head told her it might be time to go, that leaving might save lives. But her heart would not let her. Giving up was not in her nature. Besides, only Gello’s mercy would decide if her departure would save lives—and he had shown precious little of that. But there was more to it. She could argue, convincingly, that what she was doing was better for the country, that Gello would bring Norstalos to ruin. Her plan for Norstalos would significantly improve life for the people. That was true, but not all of the truth. At the core of things, she had to admit she wanted to beat her cousin.

  So it all came back to Martil. Until now, all her emotions had been focused on first holding, then winning back, her throne. But she remembered the kiss they had shared back at the caves; the effect she had on him. She had enjoyed flirting with him, teasing him a little but had refused to let herself consider taking her relationship with him further, despite her attraction. Her duty was clear—a marriage of political convenience, not love.

  She could tell herself it would be for her country, that it was to save her people but the truth was, she found the thought as intriguing as he was. And a little bit exciting.

  If she had been an ordinary woman…but the problem was, she was never going to be an ordinary woman. She was a queen.

  15

  Martil looked and felt terrible. His nightmares about Bellic never seemed to end and he could not shake the feeling that he did not deserve Karia. She was sitting next to him, chattering away; he did his best to talk to her but was barely aware of what she was saying. He was trying to concentrate on the battle plan he had in front of him, and hoping nobody would see the flaws in it. The situation was not being helped by Barrett, seated opposite him with a ridiculously wide grin on his face. He was getting on Martil’s nerves.

  The chatter around the table seemed to be going on for a long time and he vaguely registered that Merren was not there yet. When she finally did arrive, she looked as if she would rather be elsewhere.

  ‘Your majesty, if I could start proceedings by telling you what has happened since we set free the priests and priestesses,’ Bishop Milly announced, as Merren finally sat down, signifying that the council had begun.

  Merren waved for her to continue.

  ‘I am afraid there is no good news. It took many of them days to journey to their parishes. And when they arrived there, they found the people scared and confused. Gello’s use of bards and tame priests to spread a message of hate has left the people unsure who to trust. We are countering his lies with the message that Gello has turned to evil but it will take days, if not weeks, to win the people back,’ Milly said regretfully. ‘It appears we are on our own.’

  Many around the table exchanged worried looks but Merren merely nodded, as if she had been expecting this news.

  Barrett leaped out of his seat in his eagerness to speak next.

  ‘Your majesty, I have discovered something of importance that I must share with you,’ he gabbled, staring at Martil the whole time.

  ‘Go ahead, Barrett,’ Merren said, tiredly.

  ‘This is an account of the Battle of Mount Shadar, the one that Captain Martil proposes to base our strategy on. It lists how many of his men were killed or wounded in the battle—and explains in detail how Martil’s regiment was saved by the arrival of King Tolbert and reinforcements. Had they not arrived, he would have been defeated and his regiment destroyed. Captain Martil is a liar and he is leading us all to our doom!’

  Barrett spat the words out, an expression of fierce triumph on his face.

  If he had had more energy, Martil would have drawn his sword and leaped across the table. But he knew the wizard, pompously annoying as he was, spoke the truth.

  The rest of the table erupted in shock and anger. Some were yelling for Barrett to withdraw his comments, others were voicing their fear that the mage was right, their soldiers were doomed and Gello would be triumphant.

  ‘Silence!’ Merren’s voice cut through the hubbub.

  She stared around the table, until her eyes met Nott’s. He nodded knowingly at her and she forced herself to look elsewhere.

  ‘If you do not agree with Captain Martil’s plan, do you have an alternative?’ Merren forced herself to say.

  Barrett looked away from Martil finally.

  ‘I do. I have already proposed it to you.’

  Merren shook her head. ‘If you mean tricking the Rallorans so they sacrifice themselves, their deaths buying u
s time to build an army, then I have already told you I shall never agree to that.’

  Again the table erupted, this time with Martil joining in, and Barrett looked somewhat abashed, albeit a little defiant.

  ‘Enough!’ Again Merren was able to silence the room.

  She took a deep breath. Every eye was upon her and she could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She stood at a branch in the path—whichever way she chose now, there was no going back. History would be the only judge as to whether she chose correctly. But she had been told for years it was her duty to make decisions. She hesitated only a moment longer, then let out the breath and made her choice.

  ‘This is what we shall do,’ she began. ‘And there will be no debate about this. Any of you who do not like my decision, or do not agree, will be free to leave my service, with my blessing, to make what they can of their lives.’

  She looked carefully around the table. Most were hanging on her every word, although Martil was just staring at the table and Barrett concentrated on Martil, as if determined to drink in every moment of his downfall. Nott was smiling gently at her.

  ‘I shall not leave. I shall put my trust in Captain Martil. He outwitted Gello’s men in the forest, won the battle of Sendric and took the passes for us. His plan is undoubtedly risky but the alternatives are unacceptable. I will not leave this country to the excesses of Gello and his Fearpriests. I could not come back and take the Crown if I left my people to suffer while I lived in safety. Nor will I subject this town to a siege. We shall fight Gello in the field. If we are defeated, there will be time enough for the town to escape. I will go out and face Gello and his lackeys, even if I am alone. I do not order you to follow me. I only ask that you help me finish what we started, to make a New Norstalos, a country where we can all be proud and free, and where you will be valued for what you can do, not where you were born. So who will stand with me?’

  Almost before she had finished speaking, Louise and Gia had stood, closely followed by Rocus, Nott, Conal, Gratt and more. Quiller was quick to begin but a little slow actually getting up, while Sendric seemed to give it a moment’s thought before rising. Romon was standing, scratching furiously onto a piece of parchment. Karia leaped onto her chair, until only Barrett and Martil remained seated.

  ‘Barrett?’ she asked, gently.

  He turned a stricken face towards her, and seemed ready to either run or cry. Then Tiera, who was standing next to him, touched him on the arm. Barrett took a deep, shuddering breath, then pushed back his chair and stood.

  ‘I swore an oath never to leave your side,’ he said, at first throatily, then with more power. ‘I would never break that oath.’

  She smiled at him, then looked at Martil.

  ‘Come on!’ Karia was tugging at his arm by now, wanting him to join what looked like a fun game, and slowly, in response to her urging, he stood.

  Next moment people were clapping and cheering.

  ‘To victory!’ Merren called.

  ‘The Queen!’ Conal roared, and the chant was taken up.

  She looked around the table then, knowing not all of these people would survive the coming battle, hoping at least some of them would and feeling the weight of those lives on her shoulders. But she kept herself smiling as they clapped and cheered. Half of her work was done. The most difficult half lay ahead, she judged, looking at Martil, who was still staring at the table.

  Martil had been almost relieved when Barrett had delivered his accusations—he would not have to lead more men to their deaths. He could go away and die peacefully, forget about queens and Dragon Swords. Then Merren told them all she would ignore Barrett and put her trust in him. For the second time in as many days, someone was putting their trust in him and he felt he did not deserve it. They were all clapping and cheering now; he thought it was probably for Merren but it still made him cringe. She was so brave, so strong—and he was going to lead her to destruction. It was almost too much to bear.

  ‘Captain Martil, I need to talk to you alone,’ he heard Merren say, before she addressed the meeting once more. ‘I shall summon you again to discuss the battle plan.’

  Martil barely registered that people were now filing out of the audience chamber.

  ‘Karia, why don’t you come with me for a little while,’ Nott said softly.

  Martil realised he was alone with Merren.

  Ezok could feel the thrill of power surging through his veins, stronger than any drug, more intoxicating than the finest wine, more thrilling than the most beautiful woman. The King of Norstalos now danced to his tune. He was the one pulling the strings here, making a vain and arrogant man do almost whatever he wanted. Norstalos was his in all but name. For instance, it had taken but a few simple suggestions about traitors among the nobles for Gello to give Ezok and Prent the right to question—and torture—any minor nobles they wished, in order to ensure Gello’s safety. This gave Prent every opportunity to make sacrifices to Zorva and build his power—and Ezok every opportunity to find weaknesses in Norstalos he might be able to exploit. It was a heady feeling but it was only the beginning: Berellia would be next. After all, Markuz was but a puppet now. He did what Brother Onzalez ordered. And surely Ezok’s reward for delivering this fat, prosperous country to Zorva would be one throne—perhaps two.

  Happy thoughts such as these warmed him as he sat in Gello’s war council, feeling the hate and anger coming towards him from the assembled war captains. He needed these fools to give Gello a victory—but not too convincing a victory. Ideally, Gello should suffer massive losses, so his expansion plans were crippled and the captains were disgraced, to further entrench Ezok’s influence. Already the nobles were an irrelevance—only a handful had been invited to this meeting and these were not even seated at the table, filling chairs placed against the walls instead.

  ‘So, we are all ready?’ Gello said, snapping Ezok’s attention back again.

  ‘The men have had a chance to rest, and fill their bellies. The horses could use more time—there was little enough hay here and the march north was hard for them,’ Feld reported.

  ‘It won’t come down to the cavalry anyway. It’ll be close work to force the pass, then the cavalry can chase the survivors down like rats,’ Gello dismissed. ‘I want nothing to stop our march to glory. Beq, Grissum, can we trust the archers and rangers to fight and die?’

  ‘Absolutely, sire!’ Grissum said immediately, and Beq nodded his agreement enthusiastically. Neither wanted to be the one blamed for stopping Gello’s so-called march to glory.

  ‘And the volunteer regiments, the criminals and the militia—we can trust them?’

  ‘Without a doubt, sire,’ Beq said hastily and Grissum echoed his sentiments.

  ‘Good, good! And, Livett, how are the new recruits going?’

  With Livett’s Light Horse regiment shattered at the battle of Sendric, his numbers had been made up from among the infantry. Their numbers had been bolstered by the recruits Gello had assembled for his grand army of conquest and who Livett had assured him were ready for battle.

  ‘The cavalry is back to full strength, sire—we stand ready to turn an opening into victory for you!’ Livett declared. In truth he was happy with having his regiment brought back to life. And the men chosen to serve with him—seen as being the best and most loyal infantry—were excellent. Certainly the infantry regiments had suffered a little as a result, but one company of half-trained recruits scattered through each regiment was not excessive.

  ‘And what of our opponents?’

  ‘The Rallorans have concentrated at the one pass. They are barely one thousand, although they do seem to have built a score of ballistae and a pair of catapults to help the defence,’ Feld said.

  ‘We shall let the archers and rangers whittle them down. A full arrow sheaf per archer—that will be forty thousand arrows for one thousand Rallorans. After that, we’ll send in the infantry to clean them up and the cavalry to chase them away,’ Gello stated.


  That brought a rumble of approval from the table. All could see a demoralised, broken enemy.

  Gello smiled at the men seated around the table. This was what he had dreamed of. This was the moment his mother had promised him would arrive. He was poised to become the absolute ruler of his country. He wished his mother was here to see it, so he could prove to her that he was worthy after all. Of course, if she had been, she would have been interfering, telling him what to do. Well, she had never taken the throne—he had! This triumph would be his alone. And it would be the first of many, until the whole world knew of Emperor Gello the Great—and everyone had forgotten about how the Dragon Sword had refused him.

  ‘Gentlemen, we stand on the brink of utter victory. And this will be but the first of many! This army will roll on through the southern countries, until we are all draped in plunder and women!’

  His captains all tapped the table in approval, while even the nobles were moved to applaud.

  Gello signalled, and servants brought out wine for them all.

  ‘To victory!’ he toasted.

  ‘Come with me, Captain.’

  Martil followed, unresisting, wondering what Merren was going to say to him. He had no doubt she had some sort of inspiring speech planned, to fire him up and get him ready to lead her army to victory. But he was so tired, his spirits so low, he could not see how anything she could say would help him.

  He was vaguely aware that they were now in Merren’s private chambers but it was only when he heard her bolt the door that he really started to take notice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, his instinct for danger beginning to kick in.