The Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Baron Gerrin was almost gibbering with fear.

  Lieutenant Bayes looked at him with disgust. ‘Pull yourself together, man! I thought you nobles were supposed to be touched by Aroaril, not gutless little girls who wet their trews at the first sign of trouble!’

  Gerrin staggered over to the window and swung open the wooden shutters. ‘Look out there! Call that the first sign of trouble? That’s Merren, with Count Sendric and what looks like several companies of Norstalines, all in armour! Men that we said were slaughtered by Rallorans! Forde is not an idiot! If he gets to speak to Count Sendric and the other Norstalines, he’s going to ask questions—and we don’t have any bloody answers for them! If only we’d just said they were in league with the Rallorans…’

  Bayes snorted. ‘Forde used to work for Sendric—he’s never going to believe that the Count hired Ralloran barbarians to murder his own people. No, our solution is simple—we don’t let Forde talk to them. We invite them in for talks, then start a fight before he can speak to them. We’ll warn the people that we think these are Rallorans in disguise. Once everyone is attacking each other, they won’t know the difference.’

  Gerrin licked his lips. ‘Will that work? I mean, they outnumber us…’

  ‘If we kill the Queen, the Count and the rest of the leaders, they’ll be easy meat.’

  ‘But the risks! So many people could die!’

  ‘Better them than us!’

  Gerrin looked out the window again. He shuddered, then nodded. ‘All right. We’ll do it.’

  The change in Kay’s regiment was astonishing. Being told they were valued and trusted, rather than being confined to barracks as unworthy of the new King’s respect, altered the men’s attitudes dramatically. Performance on the archery range improved and the men were drilling with a new spring in their step. Kay was proud of them and Beq was happy with Kay, which was a sufficiently rare event that Kay could enjoy it. He was also eager to head north to tackle those Rallorans ravaging his country—and, if he was honest with himself, eager to see the insignia of a captain back on his tunic.

  Still, one thing bothered him. He had known the Queen. Not well, but he had known her. He could not remember her ever seeing a Ralloran, other than the official ambassador. How, then, had she arranged for a thousand of them to spirit her out of the capital and start attacking Norstalines in the far north?

  But that was a small concern next to his relief at being able to regain his honour.

  The prisoners started to arrive within days. The ones from parishes close to the capital were the first to be dragged before Prent, while the church was full of tales of others being carted across the country in chains.

  Father Nott watched them come in, careful to keep to the shadows. All of them were going down to the vacant cells deep under the church’s chapter house.

  ‘What do we do?’ Sister Milly whispered.

  ‘Nothing publicly. But see if you can’t help some of the servant girls. These prisoners will have to be fed—and that is the perfect way to communicate with them. If we win over the servant girls, it will be much safer to pass messages along.’

  Merren looked up at the walls of Gerrin. They were packed with people but, unlike the scene Martil had described, these ones were not shrieking hatred or waving weapons. They were watchful, but it seemed more curiosity than anything.

  ‘We must be extremely careful. There will be many innocent men and women in there who have been duped by Gello and his bards. But they are our people and we must ensure they are not hurt,’ she warned.

  ‘We shall do everything possible, your majesty,’ Rocus promised.

  They waited nervously outside the gates as the message from Baron Gerrin had stipulated: Merren and her officers in front, her Norstalines behind in a long column.

  Slowly the gates creaked open, and a score of men in red surcoats walked out, led by a mere sergeant. All carried long spears.

  ‘Follow me to talk with Baron Gerrin. Do not start anything, for we shall be watching you carefully,’ the sergeant bellowed.

  Rocus snarled at the lack of respect being shown to the Queen, but Merren laid a hand on his arm and he subsided.

  ‘Lead on, sergeant of Gello,’ she replied in a ringing voice.

  The man turned and began walking, and she urged her horse forwards, followed by Rocus and then the others. Her men had left their spears behind, had their swords sheathed and wore no helms, so they looked less threatening. They also did this so they could be recognised, as Rocus had made sure all of the men who had relatives or friends in Gerrin had been brought along.

  The only sound in the town was the noise of the horse’s hoofs on the cobbles and the jingle of reins and armour as the column rode slowly into the town, towards the central square. The people were eerily silent as they watched the armoured men ride into their town. Just the occasional sound of a baby crying or a child asking a question came from the assembled townsfolk. Quite a few observant children had noticed that the men rode two abreast, and that the man on the left carried a much bigger shield than the man on the right—roughly twice the size, although still painted with the Queen’s symbol of the silver dragon.

  Merren rode ahead proudly, head held high, looking neither left nor right, although she could see that all watched her. Years of training meant she could mask her feelings and appear as if she was just out for a quiet ride in the country. But the tension was making her insides twist and coil like a nest of snakes. Everything, including her life, was about to be put at risk. Sendric, and particularly Barrett, had argued against her plan. But she had insisted, and they had obeyed. Only time would prove who was right.

  Gerrin watched the slow ride through the town with trepidation, Lieutenant Bayes beside him. The pair of them waited in the central square, Forde and the town council some yards behind them—close enough to see what happened but far enough away so that they would not hear what was being plotted. Half of Bayes’s men were dressed in ordinary clothes and scattered up and down the route to the central square. At his signal, they were to hurl spears and knives and loose crossbows at the column of men. Once under attack, Bayes had assured him, the soldiers would draw swords and look for enemies—seeing nobody in red surcoats, they would assume that they were being attacked by the townsfolk. At that point, they would attack the people, who would either flee or fight back. Either way the Queen would be denied the town and, at worst, Gello would get the story of a Norstaline massacre at the hands of the Queen to add to his tales of murdering Rallorans. But if all went to plan, he would get a dead Queen. His men would take casualties but, as they had their armour on under their ordinary clothes, they stood a better chance of surviving than the townsfolk. Meanwhile, the men who were leading Merren into this trap would attack and kill the Queen and her officers. The remainder of his men, who were formed up in the square, would use a side street to join the attack. Bayes was confident it would work. After all, in many ways it was similar to the trap Captain Martil had sprung on that hapless fool Havrick—and that had been a success.

  ‘Should we attack now?’ Gerrin whispered.

  ‘Wait—we want to be sure they can’t escape,’ Bayes cautioned. In his opinion, if this cowardly baron copped a knife during the ensuing fight, it could solve a few problems. And offer King Gello an obvious reward to give Bayes when it came time to thank his loyal lieutenant for killing Queen Merren and ending her rebellion.

  Gerrin wiped sweat from his brow.

  ‘Nearly,’ Bayes muttered, seeing how close the Queen was. The signal for the attack was to be a welcoming salute from a pair of trumpeters. As soon as they finished, the attack would start.

  He glanced to where Gerrin stood perspiring, stains showing at his neck and under the arms. Bayes wouldn’t be surprised to see a similarily damp stain on the front of his trousers. Someone else deserved the riches that came with this baronetcy—someone like himself.

  He glanced up at the Queen and could not help but
compare the quivering wreck at his side with the deposed monarch. She looked cool, calm and in control. Shame that was about to end but he had his future glory to think about. He nodded to the trumpeters, who drew a deep breath and began the welcoming fanfare.

  The last notes of the trumpet call had barely died away when the sergeant and his squad turned and charged at Merren. In the narrow street, with men crowded behind her and townsfolk to either side, she could not possibly avoid their attack. But she did not even attempt to.

  Instead, Karia, riding a few paces behind, threw up her hands. Instantly a huge flock of birds soared down, beaks and talons slashing at the faces and heads of the soldiers. The soldiers tried to cover up and protect themselves from the ferocious assault, unable to press their charge home. Merren glanced at Karia, who was looking determined, but a little pale. This was the part that had upset Barrett and Sendric. Risking her life on the abilities of a small girl—no matter how talented—was terrifying to them. But Merren had a more important task for Barrett. She looked behind her to see what was happening down the street, even as her ‘officers’—in reality, Rocus and his men—formed a fighting line in front of her, in case any soldiers got past the birds.

  As soon as the trumpets sounded, Bayes’s soldiers in the crowd had leaped into action. Half had javelins hidden under their long cloaks, a handful had crossbows and the rest carried throwing knives. All immediately hurled, loosed or threw their weapons, then drew swords and waited to see what the reaction would be.

  The men on the left-hand side of the column had ducked down behind their giant shields as soon as the trumpets sounded. Knives, spears and bolts clattered into the shields but few found their mark. One horse was rearing with pain, a javelin deep in its haunch, while a man with a crossbow bolt through his calf was cursing but, as Merren had planned, the large shields had done their job. On the right side of the column, where the men’s sword arms were facing the townsfolk, and where they could not have got their shields—especially a large shield—around in time, there was a different outcome. There, the various missiles simply stopped in midair, before dropping harmlessly to the ground.

  The soldiers in the crowd stared with shock, while the crowd themselves was gripped with fear—what was happening? Women grabbed their children and thought about running, men grabbed for any weapon they had and hoped they could protect their families—all knew what armoured cavalry could do to them. The soldiers hidden among them prepared to attack. Their ambush had failed but they could feel the fear and tension in the street; it would not take much to trigger a vicious fight. Then they started screaming.

  Townsfolk leaped aside as dozens of men fell to the ground, frantically ripping off their long cloaks to reveal the armour beneath—armour that was glowing and steaming with heat. Men rolled on the ground, trying to undo straps. Barrett had been ordered to only give them enough heat to get them out of the crowd, force them to unmask themselves as soldiers, but he was in a foul mood. Not only was he worried about Merren and Karia up the front, but he had had hopes of being able to save Merren’s life. He had argued that was a duty more important than saving the lives of a few soldiers, surely? She had declared otherwise. How could men follow her, when she ensured her own safety with the Queen’s Magician, while leaving a small girl to look after one hundred men?

  Karia, too, had refused to agree to his suggestion that it was too hard for her. Her confidence and declaration that she could do this ‘easily’ had been unshakable. True, his protests had ensured that Merren was wearing armour underneath her clothes but that was scant comfort. He wanted to be the hero for once!

  His frustration boiled over and the soldiers paid for it, screaming horribly as the metal seared through its leather backing and into skin. Only then did he stop, feeling a little ashamed as men flopped and moaned. They attacked us, they were the ones who are to blame, he told himself defiantly.

  At the front of the column, Merren could hear the commotion behind but forced it out of her mind. She had to keep going with the plan. She nodded to Karia, who released the birds. They flew away instantly, leaving scratched and bleeding soldiers to search for their spears—only to realise that the Queen was now behind a shield wall of men and horses. Unsure, they turned to Bayes for orders.

  ‘Hold!’ Merren’s voice, magically amplified by Karia, boomed across the town. ‘We mean you no harm! This is a plot by your baron and Gello, to cause slaughter in the streets! They don’t care about your lives! They’ve been lying to you! What that bard told you was false! But we want to help you! Join us, and we will protect you from them!’

  The townsfolk looked at the men who had been hidden among them, now writhing on the cobbles in agony, and at the column of armoured men, most of whom had not even drawn swords, and began to mutter.

  In the square, Gerrin could see Forde and the rest of the town council advancing towards them. They did not look happy. He was horribly aware that a living and speaking queen was a different person to argue with than a dead one. And he had always been tongue-tied around her. He hated her after she had humiliated him in a council meeting, and belittled every proposal he had brought to the table—admittedly all ones he had been presented with by Gello. But he did not know how to answer her accusations.

  ‘What do we do?’ he moaned at Bayes.

  The officer was already thinking. Attacking the Queen now was doomed to failure. His men were heavily outnumbered and he could not count on the townsfolk joining him. His only chance was to try and get away—and perhaps try another ambush at Berry. He was under no illusions as to what would happen to him if he went back to Gello and reported failure.

  ‘Prisoners! Grab prisoners!’ Bayes bellowed at his sergeant. ‘Bring them here!’

  The sergeant responded swiftly. His squad hauled screaming women and children back into the square before Rocus and his guardsmen could stop them. Men who tried to protect their families were clubbed or stabbed to the ground.

  Bayes drew his own sword and, with the rest of his men, seized the town council and their families.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Forde cried, but Bayes bashed him to the ground with the flat of his blade. The other councillors, being elderly and terrified, put up no struggle.

  ‘Rally!’ Bayes called, and his men huddled together, spears pointing outwards, Bayes, Gerrin and more than a score of prisoners in the centre.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Gerrin moaned.

  ‘We’re getting out of here, you fool! Now shut up and let me do the talking!’ Bayes hissed, then waved at the men holding the prisoners. ‘Keep the bastards quiet! I need to talk to the Bitch Queen!’

  Merren urged Rocus forwards, and a company of her Norstalines rode into the square, spreading out to encircle the small formation of red-coated soldiers. With them came many of the townsfolk, crying out for the men, women and children being held. The side streets were packed, and Merren had to order her men to keep the townsfolk away from Gello’s soldiers.

  ‘Surrender the people you have taken! You cannot hope to achieve anything by this!’ she called, her voice still magically amplified.

  ‘Free passage! Let us go or we kill every one!’ a voice roared back.

  The townsfolk sent up such a wail at this that Merren was forced to call for silence.

  ‘You will let these people go if we allow you free passage to the gate?’ she called.

  ‘We’re taking them with us! They’re our guarantee of safety—and don’t think we won’t hurt them! We’ll kill the brats first, then the women!’ the officer shouted back.

  ‘How do I know you won’t just kill them anyway?’

  ‘The time for talking is over! Move your men aside or the first kid gets its head cut off! Let us get outside and leave us enough horses to ride away!’

  ‘We’ll take the horses out now—just don’t hurt the children!’ Merren called, then signalled for her officers to come closer, Barrett among them.

  ‘My Queen, we can’t let them go,’ he said urg
ently.

  ‘I know that—but neither can we see those people killed. Once you and Karia showed me how you can make plants grow tall and hold people—can you do it again?’

  Barrett looked mystified. ‘Well, yes, but these are cobblestones—there might be a few weeds but hardly enough to…’

  ‘Not in here! We leave the horses on the grass, outside the walls—when they go to mount, you act. Can you do it?’

  Barrett looked at the number of soldiers. ‘Might be too many,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then just take the ones holding the hostages. Tarik’s men can take care of the rest. Understood?’

  Barrett and the officers nodded, and hurried off towards the gate.

  ‘No tricks now—or I kill the kids!’

  Merren could see that the speaker was the officer, who was carrying a small boy in his left arm, his sword held close to his side. The boy’s mother, screaming with fear for her child, was being dragged along by the sergeant, who punched her to stop the cries.

  ‘Stand back! Let them through!’ Merren ordered, and the group of soldiers in red made their slow way out of the square, taking their captives with them.

  ‘Your majesty, please! You must save them!’

  Merren looked down to see a bloodied man try to push past a pair of her guards.

  ‘Who are you?’ she called.

  ‘Forde, your majesty, I was the militia commander in this town before it was abolished. Bayes and Gerrin have my family!’

  Merren remembered how Wime had praised this man.

  ‘So you see, Forde, how the men you decided to stand with against me choose to repay you?’ she said coolly.

  ‘I regret what I have done and said, your majesty. Save them, I beg of you, and I will be your loyal servant!’