by Duncan Lay
‘I need a piggyback!’ she told him.
So he made his way slowly back up the hill of Pilleth, Karia comfortable on his back, her head on his shoulder. He wanted to get some food, but he also wanted to see a few people.
Down below, fires were burning, hundreds of them, as Gello’s army was slowly coming awake. Up on the hill, fires were being teased back to life and cauldrons of tea and porridge were being hung over the top. Martil walked past several, aiming for where he recognised Nerrin, Dunner and others.
‘Captain! We’ll have some food ready soon, you and your daughter should help yourselves,’ Nerrin greeted him.
Martil knew he would not get rid of Karia, so simply sank to one knee, and eased her off his back, although keeping hold of her hand. He stayed on one knee.
‘I am sorry. Sorry to all of you,’ he called loudly.
‘What do you mean, Captain?’ Nerrin asked, baffled.
Other Rallorans were leaving similar fires and drifting over, both confused and intrigued by the tableau.
‘You men are all here because I gave the order to destroy Bellic. If it wasn’t for me, you would all be at home, in Rallora, with wives and children and hope in your lives,’ Martil called out. ‘I am sorry for what I did, sorry for what it has meant for you. But I promise you this. You will not pay for my mistakes with your lives. At the end of the day, I want you all to go home, find some peace, find some happiness.’
Silence greeted his words. Many of the men seemed embarrassed by what he was saying, others could not understand it.
‘We shall stand with you to the end, Captain,’ Nerrin said finally. ‘We swore an oath to serve you, and we would never break that.’
‘Then I free you from your oath. Any of you who wish to go, should go now, with my blessing. Don’t die for nothing,’ Martil implored.
By now, hundreds of Rallorans had wandered over, and the latecomers were being filled in by their fellows. But none made a move to go.
‘We shall not run. We shall not even take a step back. We are Rallorans, and we shall fight to our last breath for freedom!’ Dunner suddenly bellowed.
Martil bowed his head. That was the rallying cry he had used before Mount Shadar. He opened his mouth to tell them this was not Shadar, there was no rescue coming—when Nerrin shouted it out again. This time it was taken up by every man, swelling in volume as they all joined in, then echoing across the entire hillside as a thousand men repeated it at the top of their voices.
Martil closed his mouth. He could not trust himself to speak.
‘Did you think we would forget, Captain?’ Nerrin stepped closer and held out his hand.
Martil had to take it, and allow himself to be pulled to his feet. He kept his head bowed, until he had control of his eyes again. Why could he not stop weeping? He hated himself for that weakness, even as he could not stop it.
‘Nerrin, form your archers up a good fifty paces in front of our lines. As soon as Gello’s archers get into range of you, step back. Keep your men alive for as long as possible.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Everything else ready?’
‘Yes, sir. We have three spears for each ballistae, and we have dug range markers for our archers.’
‘Good work.’ Martil shook hands with him and moved off.
Nerrin was by now thoroughly mystified by his captain’s behaviour. Perhaps it was some way of inspiring the men? He supposed that must be it—he could see men clapping each other on the back and repeating the battle cry from Mount Shadar to each other. What had been quiet, concerned faces were now grinning at each other with pride. Yes, that must be it, he decided.
Martil accepted a mug of tea from one fire, a bowl of porridge from another, while Karia made sure she accepted every single offer of some hoarded sugar for her porridge, until Martil swore it was more sugar than oats. Yet he could not tell her off. Not that morning.
‘What was that all about?’ Conal asked, wandering over.
‘I tried to say I was sorry, that they didn’t need to fight. And they should leave now, go home and find some happiness.’
Conal looked over at where the Rallorans were laughing and joking, sharpening swords and eating.
‘Good to see that speech was up to your usual excellent standard,’ he said dryly. ‘Especially as the Rallorans are the only chance we have of winning.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Are you still resolved to throw your life away?’
‘I will not let men die needlessly for me. Not when my life can save them. Once the archers are engaged, and Gello’s attention is on them, I shall go and kill him. He and his Berellians. And that will be the end.’
They paused for a long moment then, both looking down the hill to where the trees were still in darkness—Gello was sleeping in.
Then Martil turned away. ‘Are you and Rocus ready? Because the Queen may well order you to charge. But you must not. You must do whatever you can to stop her, to protect those men down there. Remember, you need to give me enough time to do my job, and enough time for Barrett to tell you it’s done. Can I trust you to do this? Because men’s lives depend on it.’
‘You can depend on me,’ Conal assured him, a little alarmed by the intensity in Martil’s eyes.
Martil smiled then. ‘I know I can. Any man who could stay beside me through that gate tunnel will be able to do something like this.’
Conal chuckled then, relaxing. ‘Indeed! Well, you know what I always say—any time you need a hand…’
Martil clapped him on the shoulder and walked on to where Merren stood with Romon, Nott, Milly, Quiller and Sendric. The Count was dressed in full armour, and running a sharpening stone up and down his blade.
‘Do be careful, Count. This battle will not be the end. We shall need you, afterwards,’ Merren was saying.
‘I could not miss this opportunity. Gello tortured and killed my daughter. This is my chance for revenge.’ Sendric finished rasping the stone along the blade and slammed his sword back into its scabbard. ‘I would kill every man down there, if I had the chance.’
Merren bit her tongue. She did not need another middle-aged, unfit warrior with a shoulder that had not healed properly after the Battle of Sendric. What she needed was an experienced administrator to whom she could delegate a whole host of problems. But logic was not working on him. She would have to put him where he could do little damage, and where he might just survive the battle.
‘Very well, Sendric. You may ride with Rocus. But you will not command. You will ride as a common soldier, under the orders of Rocus and Conal. Is that agreed?’
Sendric dropped to one knee.
‘My Queen, my inaction helped bring us to this point. If I had only supported you in the Royal Council against Gello…I owe you a debt I cannot repay. I owe my country a debt I cannot even begin to comprehend. Today, I hope to start balancing the scales. If we survive, I will do whatever you wish.’
Merren smiled grimly. ‘Be sure I will hold you to that, Count. I will walk down and address the Norstaline companies soon. Captain Martil seems to have done most of my job for me with the Rallorans.’
‘What was that battle cry, Captain?’ Romon asked, quill in hand.
‘It was from a speech I gave at Mount Shadar.’ Martil shrugged.
The bard was scribbling furiously. ‘Well, I can tell you this is going to make a great saga!’
‘As long as we win!’ Quiller added.
Romon sniffed. ‘Either way, it is going to be entertaining. That is the important thing.’ He was excited. This promised to be the most pivotal battle in the history of Norstalos, and he would be the only bard there! He had never seen a battle and was looking forward to seeing the honour, the courage and the nobility of war that he had sung about so much. He had offered his services to Nott, to help bring the wounded back to the priests—the chance to talk with the gallant wounded as he helped them back was priceless.
Martil ignored him. He was not sure if the bard was really on their s
ide or not. He certainly had done little to prove his worth as yet.
‘Well, either way, I need you to spread the tale of what really happened here. The people must know the truth,’ Merren told Romon, before turning to Martil.
‘Is everything ready? Thanks to Archbishop Nott, I slept until the dawn, and never had the chance to go through the final preparations with everyone.’
‘We are ready,’ Martil said shortly.
‘I have a dozen priests, as well as every wizard, healer, bonesetter and apothecary in the three towns, also a number of men, like Romon, who will help drag the wounded back to us,’ Nott answered, having dropped to one knee to cuddle Karia, and inspect the heavily sugared remains of her porridge.
‘Captain Martil, I think the Queen will need some protection during the battle. How about Sergeant Kesbury and a squad of men?’ Milly suggested. She had never seen a battle before, and was dreading what might happen that day, even without the fear of losing the battle.
Martil nodded. ‘I’ll send him over. Although I’m hoping it won’t come to that.’
‘I’ll speak to them myself,’ Merren corrected. ‘I want the Rallorans to know how much I trust them.’
‘Perhaps you had better talk to them now. It seems Gello is getting ready also. His men are forming up.’ Quiller pointed down the hill, to where Gello’s camp was a hive of activity.
Martil glanced down with a professional eye.
‘It will take them a full turn of the hourglass to form up, and most of another turn to be in range,’ he stated.
Merren took a deep breath. She was trying to keep her mind on the mundane. The prospect of losing this battle, and the thought of seeing men die for her, was making her stomach churn and her head swim. She had barely been able to keep down a cup of tea. What if she was making a terrible mistake? Should she have just run?
‘Don’t worry, my Queen. You will have a victory today,’ Martil said softly.
She looked up and locked eyes with him. At that moment he wanted to take her into his arms. He wanted one last kiss before he went to his death. But he could not; not in front of everyone.
Merren wanted to hold Martil then. Wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted to feel his muscled back under her hands, wanted to smell that mixture of sweat and steel that seemed to cling to him. But she could not; not in front of everyone.
Instead, she held out a hand.
‘Thank you, Captain. Thank you for everything. I could not have asked for a better Champion.’
He took her hand, feeling the warmth of her fingers, and brushed his lips over them, the way he had seen nobles do, while still keeping his eyes on hers. They had not stopped looking at each other all that time and he did not want to let go, of either her hand or her gaze. He wanted to tell her what she meant to him, how he was happy to give his life for her cause, about so much. But all he could do was look at her.
Merren felt his lips on the back of her hand and almost shivered, remembering how they had felt elsewhere. She wanted to tell him so many things, her growing love for him, what he had done for her since becoming her Champion and how he made her feel. But all she could do was look at him.
How long they stood there, neither could tell. It was probably only a few heartbeats but felt like forever.
Martil would have been happy for it never to end.
‘My Queen! I am here!’ Barrett’s booming voice broke the spell.
‘Sorry I am late, I was just talking to the other wizards. We’ve found three oak trees, and, if it all goes wrong, we should be able to get all the important people away,’ he announced.
‘Everyone here is important,’ Merren told him.
Barrett flushed a little. ‘I know that. I just meant that we cannot let Gello win. Anyway, the other wizards are all ready to help the Archbishop.’
‘Are you ready?’ Martil asked him.
‘Of course. Just tell me when and we shall go.’ Barrett nodded.
‘What you are both doing is incredibly brave. Make sure you return,’ Merren said, rather stiffly. ‘Now, I want to speak to the Rallorans, then the Norstalines, before Gello begins without us.’
‘Do you think he will offer terms, or the chance to surrender?’ Romon asked. ‘I would like to be there for the formal declaration of battle.’
Martil laughed shortly. ‘Don’t expect something out of the sagas,’ he warned.
They followed Merren down the hillside to where the Rallorans were slowly stamping out fires, drinking the last of their tea and moving into line.
‘Silence for the Queen!’ Nerrin bellowed, when he saw her approaching, and they immediately snapped to attention.
‘What we face today is simple. This has become a battle between good and evil. Gello has the support of the Berellians and, worse, Zorva—while we have Aroaril and the Dragon Sword on our side. But we also have you, the finest warriors on the continent. The Berellians could not beat you and I know Gello’s dogs will not trouble you either!’
She paused there, which prompted a cheer from the ranks.
‘I know you have all had to sit back while our enemies spread lies about you. But, after today, the whole country will see you for the good men you are. And, as a symbol of my trust in you, my honour guard today shall be led by Sergeant Kesbury!’
This provoked more cheers, and Kesbury was pushed out of the ranks to be applauded.
‘I thank you all for being here and I know that together we shall emerge victorious!’
She clapped them, and they cheered her back; Merren acknowledged the cheers until Kesbury and his squad had joined her, then she waved once more and began to walk around to where the Norstaline companies were hidden.
‘To your places, lads!’ Nerrin roared, and they sprang into action.
‘The men are ready, sire,’ Feld reported.
Even though he had been ordered to stay with his regiment, the heavy cavalry was not expected to see any action that day. Instead, he was acting as the liaison between Gello and the troops. He had a squadron of his men to guard Gello, and a further squadron to act as runners during the battle.
‘Do you want to address them before the battle?’
Gello looked across the field to where the regiments were drawn up in tight blocks, flags fluttering. It was a glorious sight, almost too good for the rabble they were about to destroy.
‘Is there any point? All they have to do is march up a hill and destroy a pack of Rallorans. Surely you can handle that, Feld?’
‘Yes, sire. But the men would appreciate some stirring words.’
Gello ground his teeth. Could these men do nothing without him?
‘Have all the captains tell the regiments that I am watching them, that they will write a glorious chapter into Norstalos’s history, that the enemy is outnumbered and scared and will probably run as soon as they get a taste of Norstaline steel. Got that?’
Feld saluted. ‘Yes, sire.’
‘Very wise, sire. Save the speeches for when you really need them—this is just a meaningless massacre. When we face a real enemy, like the full Ralloran army, then the men will need inspiration. Here, they should win without half of them even bothering to draw swords,’ Ezok announced.
‘Very true, Ambassador.’ Gello nodded. ‘Well, Feld, you have your orders. Have the captains speak to the men, then get going! I want those Rallorans dead by noon!’
‘You all know what is at stake. Every man here is a hero, worthy of a place alongside King Riel himself! Many of you will not have fought in a battle like this before. But neither has our enemy! Norstalos has not fought a battle for centuries! Our enemy will not be expecting you. Your charges today will send them reeling back down the slope! Hold your ranks and listen to your officers. Aroaril is with us, the Dragon Sword leads us! And we have men such as yourselves! How can we fail?’
It was a variation of the speech they had already heard back at Sendric, but Merren knew it was important to stiffen backbones before the battle. After all, the o
nly time any men of Gerrin and Berry had fought, they had seen their leader die and many of their number slain.
‘Already we have many heroes. Men such as Wime, Tarik and Forde, who gave their lives for this cause. They are looking down on you now. Think of them, and fight harder! Aroaril bless you all!’
They cheered her then, and she waved at them, moving down the lines, speaking to men she remembered from the forest, asking names of those she did not know. Behind her came Nott, Milly and Quiller, as they had also done for the Rallorans, offering blessings to any who wanted them—and many did.
‘Your majesty. We need to get into position,’ Martil said finally.
He had been sitting down with Karia, just reading a saga and trying not to think. But he could feel time slipping away, and knew Gello’s men would be marching soon.
Almost as soon as he had spoken, a runner rushed over.
‘Captain Nerrin’s compliments, and Gello is advancing!’ he gasped.
Merren’s face paled, but her back was straight and her eyes defiant. ‘Are we ready?’
Martil gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘We shall find out,’ he said simply.
18
Kay could feel the sweat trickling down his back, although there was still a chill in the air. The day promised to be fine and sunny but, in some ways, it made it worse. Kay and many of his men were having the same thought: Would this be their last day? The early morning sunshine was brilliant, the air redolent with the smells of grass and flowers, every hint of birdsong impossibly loud and sweet, every buzz of an insect clear as a bell. Kay had spent a sleepless night wondering what to do. He knew what his heart felt: he should not be fighting for Gello this day, or indeed ever. But he had no idea how he could possibly escape that fate, or the death that surely waited for him if he did not fight.
So he marched with his men, bow in hand and a pair of arrow sheaves, each with twenty arrows, slung over his shoulders. He would not fit the string to his bow until they were closer—leaving it strung weakened the weapon. Beq was leading both the archers and the rangers this day, while Grissum had taken command of the two conscript regiments, the militia and the criminals. Kay knew they were marching somewhere behind him and to his right. Kay had hardly listened to the speech Beq had yelled at them before they began to advance, and he guessed few of his men had taken it in, either. Most had been complaining about the lack of food. Half an oatcake per man was hardly enough to keep them fighting through a long day, although there had been rumours that supplies were coming.