by Duncan Lay
‘The archers are ready, sire. As for the criminals, they know how to kill. They are ready to be turned on our enemies now.’
‘So we could take them north as soon as possible?’ Gello mused.
‘Your majesty!’ Feld protested. ‘Going into battle with a regiment of criminals on our flank is a recipe for disaster! And sending half-trained men against those Rallorans could be a nightmare! This won’t be like an open battle, where they can stand at the back, add bulk to the ranks and just watch the experts at work. We’ll be assaulting well-defended passes and, after that, walled towns. All our men will lose heart if we are thrown back too often. And those new regiments might be useless for future campaigns if they taste too much defeat.’
‘So leave the half-trained men at home! Isn’t the Norstaline army the finest in the world? You have thousands of trained men. Surely you can defeat one regiment of Rallorans and a rabble of townsfolk?’ Ezok sniffed. Inside, he could barely keep from smiling. This Captain Feld was absolutely right, of course. Captain Martil knew how to conduct a defence of a town. With luck, he could gut half of Gello’s troops and leave the Norstaline army a shell, unable to attack Berellia and vulnerable to attack itself.
Gello held up a hand for the debate to stop. He could see some value in both arguments but his greatest fear was to do nothing. He had Norstalos under his thumb—and yet things were slipping out of his grasp. He suddenly wished his mother was here. She always knew what to do. Every time he was confused, she had told him the way forwards. But if she was here, she would be on his throne, she would be accusing him of killing her…No, he could not think like that! He was a king now and everybody had forgotten the Dragon Sword refusing him! What had happened to his mother had been an accident! He took a deep breath.
‘We cannot give this Ralloran and my slut of a cousin any more time than they have had already. This is my throne and they will not take it away from me! It’s mine!’ He paused for breath, aware that he was sounding a little shrill. ‘I want every regular regiment, as well as the militia regiment and the criminals, to form up outside the first pass. The best of the new recruits can be used to make up the numbers we have already lost.’
There was silence around the table; a delighted one from Ezok and a horrified one from the captains.
‘Sire, there are many problems with that…’ Feld began.
Gello slammed his fist on the table. ‘I have made my decision! I am the King! I will not tolerate failure again! We will assume they will fortify themselves in Sendric, so we will need supplies for at least a month. Start collecting it now. I want the army at the passes, ready to attack, by the next full moon.’
Gasps echoed around the table as the various captains realised this gave them less than two weeks. Ezok hid his smile carefully.
‘You have your orders, gentlemen! To work!’
Ezok stayed just long enough to congratulate Gello on his decision, before hurrying away. He needed to send a report to Brother Onzalez and King Markuz. But he was barely out of the throne room before he bumped into Archbishop Prent.
‘Ambassador, I’m so sorry,’ Prent said hurriedly.
‘No, no, Archbishop, the fault is all mine. Please accept my apologies. Although I must admit, I am glad to have bumped into you. I sent a message requesting an audience with yourself but it must have become misplaced…’
‘Not at all, not at all. It’s just that I have been…busy. Yes, busy,’ Prent mumbled, looking at the floor.
Ezok looked critically at the man. Gone was the arrogance and pride. The man looked as though the weight of the world was upon him. His eyes were darting all over the place and his hands were trembling. A nerve jumped in his cheek every so often. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked carefully.
Prent laughed humourlessly. ‘I doubt that. I doubt that very much. This is a problem that is too hard…I mean, it is beyond your help…’
Ezok took the man’s arm and steered him carefully to a shadowed corner.
‘You might be surprised at what I can do. Although, I suppose, as Aroaril’s chosen representative for this country, all you have to do is ask Aroaril for help—’
‘Ask Aroaril!’ Prent snorted. ‘That won’t…It’s more…’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ His heart had jumped at the thought that Prent could not ask Aroaril for help. He looked around carefully and lowered his voice. ‘There is an alternative.’
Prent looked up with sudden hope. ‘There is?’
Ezok winked. ‘Of course. Another way to fix whatever problems you have. A way to appeal to a greater power.’
‘A greater power, but I don’t…?’
Ezok patted the man on the shoulder. ‘Archbishop, I must leave. I am late for an appointment. But I will call by in the next few days to show you what I mean. I guarantee it will solve every problem you have.’
The Archbishop looked up at him with a mixture of hope and fear on his face.
Ezok patted him again and hurried off. It wouldn’t do to push the man too much. Let him come to the right conclusion for himself. Besides, he wanted to report the double dose of good news to Onzalez and Markuz. The Archbishop was plainly receiving nothing from Aroaril—no surprise there. But it also seemed he was desperate enough to consider an alternative. Markuz would not care about that, but Onzalez would be overjoyed to think he could pervert the entire church of Aroaril in Norstalos in one stroke.
6
Merren had called a full council meeting for that afternoon to go over the many developments. Martil was not concerned about that, even though he had some important news; he was more interested in seeing Karia. He had arrived back in Sendric just a few turns of the hourglass ahead of the Queen and had had to endure an infuriating wait until Karia returned with Merren.
He wanted the peace that she brought. More than that, she gave him the feeling he was a good man, after all. To have a small child trust him and enjoy being with him…it made him feel better about himself. He could not have explained to anyone else; he just knew she made the dead parts inside his soul come alive.
With her he could forget about being a war captain, forget about the men he had left in the passes, forget about the massive army that was no doubt being assembled now by Gello to strike back—and try to forget about the dream that was waiting for him. It felt like his guilt was growing with every mention of Bellic, and that only made each night’s dream worse.
For her part, Karia was delighted to see him. The last few days had worried her—there had been a distressing lack of attention. Merren had been too busy most of the time, and Barrett had been almost ignoring her, unless Merren was around, then he had been overly kind. Karia did not understand that but she didn’t like it. And she could not stop the fear that one day Martil would go away and not come back.
‘I don’t want to keep leaving you. Why do you keep going off by yourself? Don’t you know I miss you?’ she demanded.
‘Not as much as I miss you,’ Martil told her.
Karia nodded her head. That sounded fair enough to her—and more like it. She breathed a little easier. ‘So why don’t you stay?’
Martil sighed. ‘Sometimes I have work to do. I have to do things that take me away from you.’
‘But why? Why couldn’t you come with us? You should have seen the things I did! I saved Merren by calling down birds, and I helped save some other people by making plants grow, the way I made them grow around Conal that time…’
Martil listened and nodded in the right places. He could feel himself relaxing. After all, if a little girl wanted to be with him, and liked him, he couldn’t be as bad as those sagas made him out to be.
When the messenger arrived to summon them to the council meeting, he was reading Karia a saga and was reluctant to go. He made the man wait while he read just one more page.
This meant they were the last to arrive, especially as Martil only just remembered he had to send a message to Kesbury before going into the meeting.
‘Now that the captain has decided to honour us with his presence, perhaps we can begin,’ Barrett said loudly as Martil sat down, Karia next to him.
Merren cleared her throat and instantly there was silence. ‘It has only been a few days since we last met, but there have been great changes. For those who are unaware, Count Sendric, could you outline the success of our efforts to free Gerrin and Berry.’
All eyes turned to Sendric, who described what had happened. When he finished there was much applause from the town council.
‘On another note, Lieutenant Rocus should be returning with the gold from the northern mines—gold we can use to further the rebellion and pay the men. Mine production is up, thanks to all the extra workers. It seems they are able to dig almost around the hourglass,’ Sendric added. ‘This outstanding success is due to the efforts of Queen Merren. As word spreads to the remaining settlements and villages in the north, we expect to bring in even more men—perhaps another company’s worth. Now the northeast is ours, with the passes secure, we can look more afield to expand and put further pressure on Gello.’
‘It is to decide where we go next that we are here today. To that end, I will ask…’ Merren paused and looked at Martil before deliberately turning away. ‘Father Quiller.’
Martil would not have worried about the small snub—he knew she had to make a point after he’d kept her waiting—but the insufferably smug look on Barrett’s face made him grit his teeth. However, what came next made him sit up.
‘I have been contacted by a priest in the capital. A man known to at least two of those sitting around this table—Father Nott.’
‘Father Nott!’ Karia squealed, almost jumping off her chair.
Martil’s reaction was silent, although no less dramatic. Father Nott! What was he doing? Part of him was delighted to hear the old priest was still alive—and might be able to answer a few questions—while part of him was suddenly terrified that he might want Karia back again.
‘This is the priest who is also Karia’s grandfather,’ Quiller explained.
‘How is he? What is he doing?’ Karia bounced up and down. ‘When can I see him? Did he say he wanted to see me?’
Martil, his throat suddenly feeling uncomfortably tight, tried to make her sit down. ‘Let Father Quiller tell us,’ he said huskily.
‘He is well,’ Quiller confirmed. ‘Although he did not contact us just to talk about Karia. He and the former secretary to Archbishop Declan, Sister Milly, have been working together against the new Archbishop Prent. They report that scores of priests have been arrested and dragged to the capital for refusing to preach what Gello has ordered—and for still being in Aroaril’s good graces. I am afraid the church has been corrupted now. Any of the priests remaining in the villages and towns will be under Prent’s control—which means they are under Gello’s control. They are telling their flock that the Queen is a bloodthirsty witch with an army of ravening, murdering madmen wreaking havoc on the north and preparing to kill every man, woman and child to the south. The message is almost identical to the one the bards are spreading: we are the monsters, and only by serving Gello can we be stopped. Worse, these so-called priests are telling the people that Gello is ordained by Aroaril and it is the holy duty of every Norstaline to not just join his army, but to bring Norstaline civilisation to the rest of the world. It is revolting.’
Merren felt the exuberant mood around the table plunge, as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown on their spirits. If the people were hearing this from priests as well as bards—their two most trusted sources—what were the chances they would join the rebellion?
‘Did Father Nott have anything positive to say?’ Merren asked coolly, forcing her voice to sound unconcerned.
‘Yes! Anything about me?’ Karia demanded.
Quiller nodded. ‘He does send his love to Karia, and he is pleased to know she is still with Martil.’
Martil exhaled with relief.
‘Is that it?’ Karia huffed.
‘He sends a most important message to Queen Merren,’ Quiller said gravely. ‘He and his helper, Sister Milly, have been in contact with many of the prisoners, including both Bishop Gamelon and Archbishop Declan—they are lightly guarded. Prent is safe in the middle of the capital, and thinks himself impregnable. One old man and a young woman can’t manage an escape but, with some help, they could free the prisoners. This could potentially change everything. Once freed…These are all priests who can use Aroaril’s powers. They can not only deal with the guards but also the false Archbishop Prent. Imagine what could happen then. Archbishop Declan still holds enormous respect, while Bishop Gamelon is well known in the east of the country. With the priests freed and restored to their parishes, we could potentially turn the whole east of the country against Gello. The west is his stronghold, Gello is too well-known there. But the east of the country has always suffered poorly in comparison. The priests could help us win them back to our side. Imagine that! We’re talking about scores of farming villages, half-a-dozen towns of which the largest is Wollin—thousands of potential recruits. We could even meet Gello on equal terms!’
The mood around the table lifted again. Fresh from seeing two northern towns join their side, they could see the whole east of the country rise for the Queen.
‘And how do we achieve that? After all, Prent is within the capital,’ Merren pointed out.
Quiller gestured to Barrett. ‘With the skills of the Queen’s Magician, of course. I know of the proper concerns about travelling to the capital to try to kill Gello. But this is a different situation. Prent is almost unguarded, and the mission is to free allies, all of whom are powerful in their own right. With a small group of elite warriors, they could free the prisoners and leave before Gello even knew what was happening. My Queen, this is literally a gift from Aroaril! With one stroke, we could change the course of the war! We have gathered here to decide our next move. This is it!’
Merren stayed silent for a few moments, judging the reaction from the men around the table. Excitement and anticipation was the main feeling—even Barrett seemed interested. Only Martil was not joining the general approval.
‘Captain—it is obvious you have concerns. Share them with us,’ she said loudly.
All eyes turned to Martil, who had indeed been looking unhappy, although it was more to do with Karia’s enthusiasm about Father Nott. It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts.
‘I don’t believe this is the best use of our efforts and time,’ he said finally. ‘We are asked to risk some of our best men to rescue priests who cannot even guarantee us a single recruit! Do we truly believe that half the country will rise against Gello and join us, just because their priest tells them to? And even if they were somehow able to gather men to our cause, what are we to do with them? Scattered across dozens of villages and towns between here and the Tetran border, how are we to organise them, arm them, train them?’
‘I see what you mean,’ Barrett agreed. ‘Why, we might as well depend on the Dragon Sword to bring men in!’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Martil snarled.
Barrett stared at him. ‘You are the Dragon Sword wielder. By now, there should be a steady stream of men flocking to us, drawn by the Sword’s latent magic. But it’s not working for you—you’re not really good enough. So we have to try something else.’
‘This is not—’ Merren began but did not get the chance to finish the sentence.
Martil locked eyes with Barrett and tried hard not to imagine punching the mage’s insufferable face. ‘As it happens, I have another suggestion. A much better one. Sergeant Kesbury!’
The doors to the audience chamber opened and the powerful sergeant appeared, hauling a bedraggled figure with him.
‘Who is that?’ Barrett exclaimed.
‘A chair for our guest.’ Martil wave
d and a Ralloran soldier followed Kesbury in, carrying a stout wooden chair. Everyone turned to watch the Ralloran place the chair in front of the empty fireplace, where all could see it. Grunting a little, Kesbury dumped his captive into the chair, then stood behind the man. The prisoner was not a pretty sight. His face was bruised and bloodied, while his clothes, the traditional bardic costume of red tunic and yellow trews, were also stained with blood and dirt. His hands, which he held gingerly in front of him, were misshapen, many of the fingers twisted and broken.
‘I don’t like this,’ Karia whispered, averting her pale face from the bard and burrowing into Martil.
‘Look what you’re doing to her!’ Barrett cried.
‘It’s all right, he’s a very bad man.’ Martil ignored Barrett and spoke only to Karia. ‘Would you like to wait outside?’
‘No, I want to stay with you.’
‘Who is this? What is the meaning of this?’ Merren demanded.
‘My Queen, this is why I have returned. This is the Berellian bard who performed Gello’s lies in Gerrin and Berry, telling them that you would do anything to seize back your throne. We caught him trying to escape south and, after a little persuasion, he told us some very interesting information, which we can use to our advantage.’
‘But look at him! What happened?’ Barrett gasped.
‘It looks like he viciously attacked Martil with his face. Several times,’ Conal said dryly.
‘And his hands?’
‘We had to make him talk.’ Martil shrugged. ‘And now this liar will not be able to play the lyre for a few months. It is no loss.’
‘But you can’t do that to prisoners!’ Barrett growled.
‘Would you prefer I put him in a suit of armour and call you over to burn him?’ Martil flared back.
‘How dare you! I was trying to save lives, not torture a helpless man!’
‘Why don’t you tell that to the men being shipped back to Gello in a cart? Men who were still screaming when they went through the passes! We need the information that man had and I made sure we got it!’