The Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  She thought about this and wondered, for a moment, whether to ask Romon to tell Barrett she was too busy, and would see him later. But she had been raised to meet her duties, no matter how unpleasant. And leaving him any longer would probably just make matters worse. So she squared her shoulders and marched over. Still, her heart was pounding a little and she had to pause and take a deep breath before she went into the shelter.

  ‘How are you, Barrett?’ she asked warmly.

  ‘I am recovering, Merren. I will be back on my feet by tomorrow and able to take us all home either tomorrow night or the day after.’ He smiled. ‘Luckily I work hard at training—I doubt there would be a dozen mages in this world who could have done that much magic and survived.’ As he spoke he pulled up his tunic to show her his chest, every muscle clearly defined after he had burned off every scrap of fat on his body.

  Merren had thought to show her—genuine—concern for him before moving on to the issue of what she had said at the ranger barracks but, when he flashed his chest at her, she thought she better move on to it immediately before he did something they would both regret.

  ‘Barrett, I am glad to hear that. But I need to talk to you about an important matter.’

  ‘Of course, Merren. What is it?’ Barrett almost held his breath. This was it! This was going to be the moment when she confessed her love for him!

  ‘Barrett, when I said to you that I loved you, it was not what you might think.’

  He liked the first half of the sentence but the second half did not sound right. Neither did her voice. There did not appear to be as much warmth in it as he expected.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I love you like a brother, like a friend. Not in any other way.’ She said it in a rush, knowing she had to get it out before it was too late. ‘I know what you are hoping for but I cannot return those feelings. I said that to you back in the wood because I knew it would revive you, and we needed you to escape. I used you and I am sorry.’

  Barrett could barely hear her for the pounding of the blood in his head. His stomach seemed to have turned into a lead weight and the stew he had eaten was burning his throat. He struggled to breathe and he did not know where to look.

  ‘But…but…’ He struggled to find something to say, some hope he could extract from this.

  ‘There is no possibility my mind will change,’ she said gently, almost hating herself for doing this to him but knowing she had to finish it. ‘You will always be a friend, always be a trusted counsellor. I could never forget what you have done for me over the past few years but I can never be anything more than a queen to you.’

  Barrett’s throat was choking him and his eyes were burning. But he had his pride.

  ‘You must be mistaken, my Queen,’ he managed to squeeze out past the huge lump in his throat. ‘I never thought that way about you. I have never been anything more than a loyal servant.’

  Merren could hear—and see—the pain in his voice and on his face that gave lie to those words. She reached out to pat him on the shoulder but he jerked away from her.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said, as gently as she could.

  ‘Nothing to apologise for. Nothing at all. Now, if you will excuse me, I need some rest,’ he said thickly.

  Merren sighed. Staying here would achieve nothing.

  ‘Come and talk to me when you feel better. I need suggestions as to what we can do now,’ she offered, hoping that might give him something to work towards.

  Barrett did not answer. He could not trust himself to speak and, after a long pause, she ducked out of the shelter and took a deep breath.

  Well, that had gone about as badly as she expected. She knew their relationship would never be quite the same but if he could learn to work though this, it would be enough. She hoped.

  Barrett lay in the shelter and wished for his heart to stop, so it would not hurt so much. He felt sick to the stomach and his eyes were stinging. But he would not cry. He was stronger than that. How could she tell him she could never love him? Emotions warred within him. Hurt at the way she had refused him, anguish at the way he had wasted so many years carrying a secret, futile love. Then there was anger; anger at his own foolishness. Why had he been so stupid as to dream a queen could ever be interested in him? What an idiot he had been! And finally there was bitterness, aimed at Martil. If that over-muscled oaf had not turned up, waving the Dragon Sword and trying to charm her, maybe she would have discovered her true feelings for him!

  The bitterness and anger merged. He could not be angry at Merren, he did not want to be angry at himself, but Martil—Martil was a wonderful target for everything he was feeling, so he concentrated on that.

  The streets were emptying fast. The city folk had heard the alarm horns and wisely decided they needed to get home and off the streets. The little group of six tried to hide within the rushing crowds; the park was not far away but the number of horns blowing the alarm seemed to indicate that they would be lucky to get there without seeing any of Gello’s men.

  Martil guessed Gello would send the bulk of his forces to the gates, seal them off, and then start to work inwards. That should give them enough time to escape—as long as Karia was indeed able to get them out. And that was a big if, as far as he was concerned.

  The more the streets emptied, the more exposed he felt.

  ‘There they are!’ A patrol of six men rushed across the street, drawing their swords. They should have watched and followed until they met another patrol, but two warriors, two women, a young child and an old man looked like an easy target.

  It was a fatal mistake.

  Battle had always freed Martil’s mind of worries, so he was almost glad to draw the Dragon Sword and leap to the attack, Kesbury at his shoulder. Two soldiers tried to fight back and were cut down by Martil, a third was picked up and slammed into a wall by Kesbury, then Nott and Milly called on Aroaril to hold the others in place, as much for their own protection as for Martil’s.

  ‘Is it just me, or is this getting easier now?’ Milly wondered aloud.

  ‘You are right. It is easier. Now you ask with the authority of bishop,’ Nott said. ‘We can discuss it more later but, for now, there’s the park. Quickly!’

  Martil looked at him carefully. When he had first met Nott, he had been sure the man was not long for this world, he had seemed so frail and old. But, particularly since he had taken on the duty of archbishop, he seemed to be stronger and, if possible, younger. A little divine intervention was the obvious conclusion but Martil did wonder how this would affect Karia—and himself.

  The park was quiet, its small lake empty and the many walking paths deserted. Anyone who had been enjoying the late afternoon sunshine on its grassy lawns had quickly run for cover when the alarms started. So it was easy to walk swiftly to the oak tree they had arrived through, although Martil felt faintly ridiculous, standing around a tree, watching a little girl expectantly.

  ‘So what do we need, Karia?’ he asked, trying to focus. After all, hundreds of soldiers could pour into the park after them at any moment.

  ‘We need an oaken staff first!’ Karia declared.

  So Martil drew the Dragon Sword and sliced through a length of branch about the width of his hand, and easily his height. He handed it to her and she smiled nervously back.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to try something else,’ Martil said, knowing that was a lie but more concerned that she would be hurt.

  ‘No, I can do this,’ Karia said, with a mixture of confidence and nervousness.

  ‘Of course you can. I’m proud of you and I know you can do it.’ He smiled and she glowed a little at that.

  ‘We all believe in you, Karia,’ Milly said encouragingly.

  She was enjoying this, being the centre of attention. And she was sure it would not be hard. After all, she had seen Barrett do it many times, and made him explain how he did it just as often. The magic will guide you, just keep your destination in mind as you trave
l from tree to tree. And don’t let them get out of order. Well, that was silly! As if she was ever going to forget anything! She never forgot things.

  ‘Ready now!’ she announced, then took the branch in one hand and touched the tree with the other. ‘Here we go!’ she announced. ‘Tree to tree to tree to tree to tree…’

  ‘You’re doing it! You’re jumping across the country!’ Tiera cheered.

  Martil looked across but, as usual, could not see anything unusual. So what could Tiera see? He glanced up at Nott but the old priest’s face was giving nothing away.

  A horn’s blast, closer than the others, made Martil crane his neck—a patrol of Gello’s soldiers stood at the far side of the park. Again there were only six of them, and they were making no move to attack, instead blowing a series of short, sharp blasts on a horn, to summon more pursuers.

  ‘Maybe that’s enough now, Karia, just take us through,’ Martil suggested.

  ‘It’s easy, I feel fine!’ Karia exclaimed, although sweat was now trickling from her hairline and her face was reddening.

  ‘Here, hold my hand,’ Martil told her, not sure what he was going to do to help but knowing she was not ready for this, wanting to protect her.

  Karia, her attention on the tree, dropped the staff and reached up blindly—and grabbed his hand that held the Dragon Sword. As she did so, the hilt of the Dragon Sword suddenly grew warm.

  ‘It’s working easier now!’ she exclaimed delightedly.

  ‘Stay like that! Keep her hand on the Sword!’ Father Nott thundered.

  Martil was so surprised he nearly did the opposite, but recovered just in time.

  ‘Why? What’s happening?’ he hissed.

  ‘She’s drawing on the power of the Dragon Sword! She’s using the Sword’s magic, rather than her own! Keep it going—don’t let her stop!’ Nott ordered.

  Easier said than done. A thunder of hoofs made the rest of them turn, and they saw a squadron of cavalry canter into the park and form up into two lines on the lawns.

  ‘We have to go now. Anywhere is better than here!’ Martil said urgently. ‘Stop at the next tree, Karia!’

  ‘But I could keep going!’

  ‘No, that’s far enough!’ Martil said, trying not to give an order.

  She nodded, then glanced to where the staff had fallen to the ground. ‘Help me with the staff!’

  Before Martil could reach down, Tiera grabbed the end of the oaken branch and helped Karia thrust the long staff into the tree and hold it there.

  ‘Quick now! Hold onto the staff and don’t let go as you go through!’ Nott urged, although nobody seemed that eager to be the first to get away. Martil could not entirely blame them—this mode of travel was very different with a small girl, rather than the Queen’s Magician.

  ‘Follow me!’ Milly declared, grabbing the staff and walking through the tree, hauling herself along the staff, hand over hand. She vanished and the group paused.

  Milly’s head appeared out of the tree.

  ‘Hurry up!’ she snapped.

  ‘Father! You should go first, you are too valuable to lose!’ Martil jerked his head at Nott, then remembered he should be calling him by his official title. Too late now.

  Nott just smiled. ‘My flock will go first. The shepherd should always see to their safety before his own,’ he said calmly.

  Martil signalled to Kesbury, who gulped, then walked through, keeping hold of the staff.

  ‘Hold it steady when you get through!’ Martil told him, then took Tiera’s place beside Karia, letting the young woman hurry through.

  The first rank of cavalry spurred themselves to the gallop and the second rank followed; the ground was starting to tremble now from their hoofs. Worse, he could see men flitting among the trees—infantry had obviously followed the alarm call as well, coming into the park from a different way.

  ‘Father, get through there, for Aroaril’s sake!’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Karia asked nervously, still facing the tree. He could hear her breathing now, fast and harsh, and knew they had to hurry—even without the approaching cavalry.

  A pair of men in Gello’s red, both holding swords, had stepped out from behind a tree about a dozen yards away, and were stalking towards them purposefully.

  ‘Don’t worry about anything, just concentrate on what you are doing,’ Martil said, trying to keep his voice calm as Nott moved slowly into the tree.

  The nearest cavalry were only twenty paces away now, and had lifted their swords ready for the first stroke, while the infantrymen had split up, ready to rush at them from two sides.

  ‘Let’s go now,’ Martil gritted, trying to keep his voice even. Scaring Karia would do more harm than good—and he had no wish to escape a sword blow only to spend the rest of his life encased in some tree.

  He tried to grasp both her hand and the Sword, while holding the staff firmly. He closed his eyes and stepped forwards, as she did.

  Someone was pulling the staff, gently, so as not to dislodge their grip, and they walked on a step at a time, emerging on the other side to cheers from those anxiously awaiting them.

  ‘We’re through, you can let go now,’ Martil told her, for he could hear the cavalry closing in—and a shouted challenge coming through what should be a solid tree.

  ‘All right!’ Karia blinked and stepped away from the tree, dropping the branch as she did so.

  Martil thought he heard a faint scream, which was cut off suddenly.

  He looked over at Nott, who nodded. ‘That will be a nasty surprise for a woodsman one day,’ was all the new Archbishop said.

  ‘You did it!’ Tiera cheered Karia, giving her a hug and twirling her around.

  ‘And you helped! You must be able to do magic too!’ Karia laughed, enjoying the praise and the applause from the assembled group. ‘You’ll have to study with Barrett, like me!’

  ‘Where are we?’ Kesbury asked, getting to the point.

  ‘I just need to rest a bit, then I’ll get a bird to tell us,’ Karia yawned.

  Martil picked her up as she wobbled on unsteady legs.

  ‘Water—and some food!’ he snapped.

  Kesbury pulled out a waterskin while Tiera opened the bag she had filled from the kitchen stores before they left.

  After making sure Karia had drunk most of a waterskin and eaten a hunk of cheese and a large honeycake, Martil felt able to look around. They’d come out in a small wood overlooking farmland. A flock of sheep was grazing beneath them and recently ploughed fields stretched beyond them. Presumably there was a farmhouse nearby but Martil could not see one.

  ‘I would think we are about halfway to the north,’ Milly said quietly.

  ‘Long enough away from the capital that we should be able to relax tonight,’ Nott acknowledged. ‘And tomorrow, we can return to Sendric when Karia has more energy.’

  ‘I’m fine now!’ Karia insisted, stifling a yawn.

  ‘How about you sit with me and I read you a story?’ Nott suggested.

  ‘I’d love that!’ Karia exclaimed.

  ‘Martil—when we reach Sendric, I wonder if I could ask you a favour?’ Nott said quietly.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I would like to spend a couple of days with Karia.’

  Martil felt a sinking feeling, but how could he refuse? ‘Certainly,’ he managed to reply.

  ‘Excellent. Now, I suggest we eat some of the supplies that Tiera has thoughtfully brought, then get some sleep—although perhaps, Martil, you and the sergeant could keep a watch, just in case?’

  Martil nodded. He was afraid of sleeping tonight anyway. He was supposed to be using Nott’s idea to fight against his dreams. But he had no idea how he was going to persuade his mind to rescue himself by using Karia. Especially as he was afraid Nott was going to take her back.

  Gello had to see this for himself.

  ‘That’s how they got away, sire,’ Feld told him. ‘We sealed the gates, then tracked them to this park. They were walking
through the tree, so two of our men tried to follow and, well, you can see for yourself.’

  Gello stared at the huge oak tree. The backs of two men, including both legs of one and the leg of another, were sticking out of the tree, just hanging limply.

  ‘They were moving for a short while, then they just stopped. We could not pull them out or push them further in,’ Feld said flatly.

  Gello sniffed. It was an unpleasant fate but one he was tempted to mete out to a few others.

  ‘We had them in our power and they managed to escape!’ he growled. ‘I thought you said the wizard was not with them?’

  Nobody seemed eager to offer an answer until Ezok coughed gently. It was time to move to the next stage, to use this opportunity to actually bring him around to the worship of Zorva.

  ‘Normally, sire, priests are not able to do something like that. But there have been disturbing developments. It seems Aroaril may be giving them more help than normal.’

  ‘What! Why?’

  Ezok spread his hands. ‘I suspect it may be due to the pleas of your cousin and her followers. After all, you have taken actions that some could see as attacking the church of Aroaril. Whatever the reason, it does present you with a unique problem, sire.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Ezok gestured delicately towards the trees and Gello followed him immediately.

  ‘Sire, if Aroaril is indeed giving special powers to his priests, then you may need to combat that. If Aroaril has set Himself against you, then you need to balance that power with another, similar power…’

  Gello glanced over his shoulder to where his captains stood.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There is only one who can oppose Aroaril, who is more powerful than Aroaril. The Great God himself—Zorva.’

  Gello recoiled. ‘You cannot be serious!’