The Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  Merren almost laughed. ‘Where do we start?’

  Getting Martil into her room had been easy enough. But even now she was not sure how she was going to take it further. One step at a time, she told herself.

  ‘Sit down. Do you want a drink?’

  Martil looked longingly at the decanter of wine but managed to refuse.

  ‘Well, I do,’ Merren said with feeling, and poured herself a large goblet, took a swig, then topped up the goblet once more before sitting down next to him. Where to begin?

  ‘You once swore an oath, on Karia’s life, to serve me and obey me without question,’ she stated.

  ‘I did.’ Martil straightened up automatically.

  ‘Then I command you now to tell me what is wrong with you. You sit at the most important war council meeting we have ever held, staring at the table! You propose a battle plan that is flawed at best but refuse to admit it. I hear you have been shouting at Karia. And, worst of all, you don’t even fight with Barrett when he gives you every reason to want to! Where is the Martil I first met?’

  Martil opened and closed his mouth. Where could he start? There were so many thoughts whirling around in his exhausted brain that he felt it was a miracle his head had not already exploded.

  She tried again. ‘Martil, whatever else, you are the Queen’s Champion and the wielder of the Dragon Sword. You freed me from Gello’s palace, built me an army, gave me victories and this town. You won me a battle and saved my life. Nothing you can say can change that, or the respect I have for you.’

  But still he could not answer. There was too much inside him to actually get out. He turned to her with anguish all too apparent on his face.

  Words were not enough, she decided; stronger measures were called for. She took a gulp of wine then leaned in, grabbed his face and kissed him as hard as she could on the lips.

  It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him. Before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing her back, until she broke it off, keeping her face close to his, holding his cheeks in her hands.

  ‘Will you tell me now?’ she demanded.

  ‘I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve Karia. I don’t deserve people cheering me,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Good. Go on,’ she urged him.

  And out it all came, like poison pouring from an infected wound. How he should have stopped the Berellians from torturing and mutilating a Ralloran village. How it was his fault, how his guilt at their fate made him destroy Bellic. How he had killed a woman and child there, how his order had seen the whole town razed. How the dead stalked him through the streets of Bellic every night and no matter what he did, he could not escape them. How he thought he was going to lose Karia, and then had raised a hand to her. How Nott wanted him to look after her but he could never be good enough. How he was terrified that his plan was going to lead everyone to their deaths and he would be haunted forevermore, despised through the ages: the last Butcher of Bellic, who worked his evil on a young queen and led her to her doom.

  ‘Karia loves you,’ she suggested.

  ‘Karia is a little girl! She was treated like a slave by her real father—anything would look good to her, compared to him! If she knew the truth, she would run away from me!’

  ‘But still—’

  ‘I am not a good man! Everyone thinks I must be, because I drew the Dragon Sword, but it won’t work for me! It’s going to kill me for what I have done and what I keep doing!’ His last cry was almost torn from him.

  Merren kissed him again, but lightly this time. Listening to his torment, and understanding just what he had been going through, evoked in her a wash of tenderness and sympathy. He had come north looking for peace but, because he drew the Dragon Sword, she had asked him to do the very things he hated.

  ‘There is a good man in there,’ she said softly. ‘The Dragon Sword does not make mistakes. It can see into your heart. We just have to help you find the good man and break clear of your past.’

  Martil almost laughed and tried to tear himself away from her, but she held his face firm.

  ‘If I knew how to do that, don’t you think I would have already done so?’ he groaned.

  ‘You need proof that you are a good man. I know how to show you,’ she said softly.

  Until now, she had not been sure she could go through with this. For weeks she had been wondering whether she actually felt something for him. Now she knew she did. If Nott had not come to talk to her, to ask her to do this, she would never have acted, she knew that. But now she wanted to. This was not just about the Dragon Sword, about winning back her throne or even saving her people. This was about Merren, a woman, and Martil, a man.

  She let go of his face and took his hand.

  ‘Come with me,’ she told him and led him back into her bedroom.

  That was all she needed to do, she thought. After all, he would know what to do after that.

  With an anguished howl, Martil rolled to the side of the bed and sat up, his head in his hands.

  ‘What is it?’ Merren sat up beside him and rubbed his shoulders.

  ‘I don’t know! I can’t do anything right! I’m just no good!’ Martil cried, not caring that he was now thumping his forehead with his hands. ‘I’m not good enough for you—look at me, I’m useless! I can’t even make love to the woman I love! Just leave me, let me go and die!’

  She watched the tears running down his face and knew it could not end like this. She grabbed his hands then and forced him to turn and face her.

  ‘I won’t do that. Ever. And you are good enough. Martil, I love you. And if you can’t make love to me, then I shall to you.’

  Stunned, Martil did not resist as she pushed him back onto the bed.

  This time, and the time after, it worked.

  The howling dead had spotted him again.

  ‘Kill him!’ The cry was taken up by a score of ripped-out throats.

  Martil did not waste his breath pleading with them. He saved his apologies for the bodies he clambered over in his desperate attempt to escape.

  Ahead was the town square, with its tortured display of his fellow war captains; beyond that was the gate. The gate! Night after night it had drawn him, haunting him with its false promise of safety. He hated it. But there was no choice. The streets held nothing but death.

  ‘You cannot escape us!’ the leader of the dead, the woman he had killed, capered on a battlement over the gate. ‘You don’t deserve to!’

  But Martil ignored her. At full pace he hurled himself at the massive wooden gate, then beat on it with his swords.

  ‘Too late!’ a voice taunted and he turned to see the host of the dead arrayed in a semicircle around him. Martil crouched, swords ready, and prepared to throw himself forwards in a last attack, when a creaking noise made him glance over his shoulder.

  The gates were opening!

  He looked again. Even though he knew there was no hope, he had to look. Through the gates, in the distance, was a small hill that overlooked Bellic. On that hill stood a small figure, which beckoned to him. Karia!

  ‘No! You must not escape!’ the dead screamed.

  He turned and stepped forwards, wanting to run through the gates. He had never wanted anything more.

  But something grabbed him around the legs and he looked down in horror to see the woman from the Ralloran village, still clutching her dead baby.

  ‘Your fault! All your fault!’ she hissed.

  He tried to break free but her grip was unyielding. He heard the insane laughter of the dead…

  ‘Let him go!’

  The power of the voice, the command it held, was unstoppable. The Ralloran woman released him, the desperate, impossible strength she had commanded now gone. Martil stepped past her and staggered towards the gate, almost unable to believe this was happening.

  ‘No! You must not escape!’ the dead howled and rushed at him.

  ‘Leave him! You no longer have power over him!’ The voice was, if possible, even
stronger.

  It stopped the howling monstrosities in their tracks.

  ‘Martil, take our hands,’ the voice ordered. ‘You are too good a man to stay there.’

  He stretched out his hands and felt a warm, strong woman’s hand grab one, a small child’s hand clutch the other. Together they pulled him clear of the shadow of the gates. He looked up to see Merren and Karia standing there.

  ‘You can let go of the gates now, Karia,’ Merren said.

  The little girl waved her hand and the gates slammed shut, trapping the dead in that town. The shrieks and howls of hate and anger were cut off in an instant.

  ‘Stand with us now, Martil,’ Merren told him.

  ‘Stay with us,’ Karia agreed.

  ‘While ever I have life,’ Martil said.

  He turned, to see Bellic was gone. They were standing alone in a field, where flowers were beginning to bloom, forming a shape in the green grass. It was odd, but it looked like a dragon.

  ‘I like this better,’ Karia told him. ‘If you rest here, the flowers will make you a bed. Try it!’

  ‘Come on!’ Merren beckoned to him. She and Karia were lying on a colourful bed of flowers.

  Martil smiled. He lay down…

  And slept.

  Nerrin called for riders in the dawn.

  ‘Deliver this message to the Queen or Captain Martil—no other,’ he ordered. ‘The Norstaline army is preparing to march. Make sure you are back here by nightfall, or you might miss out on our victory!’

  ‘Are we going to stand here, sir? We’ll hurt them but we can’t stop them,’ Dunner said anxiously.

  ‘Don’t worry. Captain Martil will have a plan. He won’t leave us to die,’ Nerrin said, with a confidence he did not entirely feel.

  Martil woke up slowly. It took him a long time to work out where he was. It was an unfamiliar bed, but he had slept in enough of those over the years. It was more an unfamiliar feeling. He felt good. He felt rested. He felt calm. For the first time in he didn’t know how long, his mind was clear and ready to think. Better still, the memories of Bellic, the knowledge of what he had done, was not haunting him. It was there, but it was as if it had happened to another man, as if it was separated from him now. He would not forget, but he felt he could at last leave the horror behind him.

  He almost shook his head at the wonder of it all. Merren. She had done this to him. She had told him she loved him, she had—well, she had proved it, last night! Thanks to Merren. Well, Merren and Karia. With them, he had done it, he had escaped from his dream! And it could never haunt him again. Karia had opened the gates but it had taken the love of Merren for him to be able to step through them. He almost felt like shouting for joy. He looked over but saw he was alone in the bed.

  The joy slipped away a little, then. He may have escaped his past, but how was he going to escape the future? A massive army was marching towards them and everyone expected him to come up with a plan to stop them. Obviously his strategy from Mount Shadar was going to hurt Gello, but not stop him.

  For the first time in weeks, his mind began to hunt for a solution. He cast his mind back to Pilleth, the hill outside the passes. It had a stand of trees on its summit, as well as more on its rearward-facing flank, which would help to hide the cavalry. Other than a small stand of trees back from its base, the rest of the countryside was open…trees! Perhaps he could use them to transport warriors to attack Gello and his commanders. Without Gello and his captains, the army would dissolve. But whoever went would have to be both a brilliant warrior, and insane. There was no way back from there.

  He was about to discard that idea, then almost laughed. It was so obvious! He would go! With the Dragon Sword in his hand and Barrett’s magic protection on his skin, Gello’s guards would not be able to stop him. He could kill Gello, every Berellian and every man with the gold braid of a captain hanging off him. By the time they cut him down, Gello’s army would be leaderless and Merren could simply walk down Pilleth’s slope and take control of the country. It was so easy!

  He paused then. Obviously Merren would never approve of it. But Barrett would help him. The wizard would be delighted to send him on a suicide mission. Best of all, he would not have to kill hundreds of Gello’s soldiers, or lead men who trusted him to their death. He would take the battle to the man who had started it all.

  But he could not lie to Merren. So he had to tell her a sort of truth—that he and Barrett would travel there together to kill Gello. After all, it was a version of the plan she had suggested so long ago, back in the caves. Only he and Barrett would know the real truth of it.

  But what about Karia? For a moment he went back on his idea. He could not leave Karia alone, after what he had promised her. But then he remembered all the men outside, the Norstalines and the Rallorans, who would die for him. He remembered how Louise had looked when he had talked to her about Wime’s death. There were many other people who loved Karia. Merren, for instance. Aroaril knew, the girl needed a mother more than she needed a scarred guardian. He could not let other men die when a way to save them all, and win the battle, required just his death. He would entrust Karia to Merren and then do what he must.

  He would talk to Merren, then find both Barrett and Rocus and get word to Nerrin to pull back to Pilleth. He glanced out of the window and swore. It looked like it was almost midday! He must have slept for a day and a half! He swung his legs off the bed and thought he had better at least pull on some clothes before he went looking for her. He should also wash his mouth out. And he definitely needed to use her privy.

  ‘Good morning—or should I say, good afternoon.’ Merren smiled at him as he walked out of her bedroom to find her going through papers. ‘I would have stayed but there was too much work. The maids brought me extra bread and cheese, as well as fresh juice, if you are hungry.’

  Martil was, but he could see Merren was trying a little too hard to be casual. Yesterday he would not have known what to say or do to reassure her but, this morning, everything seemed clear.

  He took her hand and lifted her up into an embrace. The scent, the feel of her hair, was wonderful on his face. She felt warm, beautiful in his arms. The memory of last night rose within him and it was only with an effort of will that he stopped himself from picking her up and carrying her back into the bedroom. He could wish for nothing more than to stay in her arms forever. But that would be too cruel, for both of them.

  ‘What you did for me…You rescued me,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Last night, you and Karia opened the gates of my nightmare for me, let me walk free. I know you are a queen and cannot follow your heart, but I will be forever in love with you. Whatever you are prepared to offer me, even if it is nothing more than last night, will be enough. I wish I could spend forever with you but I know that is too much to ask. We do not have much time. I must find Barrett and Rocus, get word to Nerrin and then I will take you through our battle plan. Gello could be marching even as we speak. We can decide what last night means when we have won the battle.’

  Merren was astonished by the change in him. The Martil of yesterday was gone; in his place stood a different man. She had been sitting here, trying to immerse herself in boring papers but desperately thinking what to do about him. She had been worried he would come out of the bedroom demanding her hand in marriage. Last night had started badly but finished wonderfully. But the real question was, where to from here? She had not thought about that; she had not thought past seducing him. When he had walked out, she had been torn between a rush of feelings towards him and a wave of nerves. But he seemed to be saying all the right things.

  ‘You are sure?’ she asked.

  He kissed her then, long and deeply.

  ‘I know what I am doing and where I am going now. Last night was the greatest gift anyone could give me. I will never be the same again.’ He stroked her face and looked deep into her eyes. ‘But I must go. I cannot let my feelings for you risk this rebellion.’

  Merren watched him go and felt more
confused than before. She had thought to gently tell him that they could never be together and certainly could never marry. After all, even if they defeated Gello, she would become queen of a divided country—a country that had been taught to hate Rallorans. But now she wanted to be with him more than before.

  Martil shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, closing his eyes. What he had wanted to do was take her in his arms and never let go. He wanted more than anything to make a life away from this, with Merren and Karia. But he could not leave men to die, even if it meant sacrificing his happiness. Speaking to Merren like that had been difficult. But clinging to her would have been worse. He just hoped she would not remember him too badly, when she learned the truth.

  Barrett was taking Tiera carefully through a series of mental exercises to focus and sharpen the mind. It was slow work, especially when compared to Karia, but he found it enjoyable to be with her. His enjoyment was soured, however, by seeing Martil striding towards him, as if he owned the whole world. Barrett hoped the Ralloran oaf would go away.

  ‘Barrett! We need to talk!’

  Barrett tensed, his hand stealing down to his staff. Did he want revenge for yesterday? If Martil tried anything, he would be ready.

  ‘What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?’ Barrett snapped.

  ‘We need to talk about the battle plan,’ Martil told him. ‘Alone.’

  Barrett gripped his staff tighter. ‘Why not here?’ he said suspiciously.

  Martil looked around, then leaned forwards carefully. ‘Because I want you to help me die,’ he hissed.

  Barrett almost dropped his staff. He looked for some sign of jest, but Martil’s face was impassive.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me. But Merren cannot know about this.’

  Barrett turned to Tiera. ‘Take a break, get yourself something to eat. The mind is like any muscle, and must be exercised regularly—but it also needs rest. Good work this morning!’