by John Marco
‘So that you can be closer to Liiria?’
‘That’s right.’
‘All in its time, my lady.’ Rodrik lowered his voice so that others couldn’t hear him. ‘Norvor is yours, but she’s a restless prize to be sure. Liiria can wait.’
‘I will wait until there is order, until our strength has returned,’ said Jazana. ‘Then we will have our ease to march on Liiria.’
‘You are queen, Jazana. Norvor is yours. Why is that not enough for you? When will you finally stop brooding over Baron Glass?’
Jazana Carr turned her dazzling smile on the man. ‘Sweet Rodrik, do you not think I hear your counsel? Do not fear for Norvor. She is shattered now, but I will heal her. And do not torture yourself over Thorin’s memory. I will deal with my promise to him in my own time.’
‘Not too soon, I hope.’
‘When I am ready.’
‘When you are ready? Or when Norvor is ready? Those may be two different things.’
‘Enough,’ said Jazana. She did not want to discuss it so she said nothing as they rode, allowing Rodrik to fall back a little. The dark sky that had hampered them recently had given way to a rare sight in Norvor — a bright day punctuated with cottony, harmless clouds. A sweet breeze from the mountains relaxed Jazana. Comfortable in her leather armour and cape, she could not recall a finer day. Deciding it a good omen, she allowed herself a tiny smile.
They rode like this in silence for an hour more, until at last Carlion appeared on the horizon. The great army took notice of the capital with a happy murmur. Jazana shuddered at the sight of it. It was an ugly city, though it had once been beautiful. The towering turrets of Lorn’s former fortress rose up like spears, guarding the capital against the northern road. Like most Norvan cities, this one had walls built around it which were crumbling in spots and a great gate had fallen into similar disrepair, for it was clearly open and unguarded. The neglected capital made Jazana forlorn. To her great concern she saw people in the streets, mobs of them curiously watching the arrival of her army.
We are conquerors and they hate us, thought Jazana. And why not? If I were them I would hate us, too.
Riding up to greet them came a contingent of mercenaries, about a dozen of those who had been put under the command of Duke Rihards to help take Carlion. They were eager in their stride, hurrying forward. Rodrik Varl called to them, waving. With them was a trio of Rolgans, easily recognisable in their perfectly matched armour, a luxury even Jazana’s well-paid forces had never enjoyed. Now that she was queen, she supposed she would need to bring some sort of order to her troops. The riders came up to greet them, and Jazana brought her company to a halt. The snaking army stopped behind her. The Rolgans dismounted at once, as did her own men, but it was the Rolgans that bowed.
‘My queen,’ said one of them, the elder of the two. ‘My lord Gondoir greets you, and welcomes you to Carlion.’
Jazana gave the man her thanks. ‘Where is your lord now, sir?’
‘Lord Gondoir is at the fortress, my queen,’ replied the man. Obviously a soldier of some breeding, he stood at erect attention as he spoke. ‘He passes on his assurances that the city is safe and has been secured for you. He has prepared the fortress for you as well and awaits you eagerly.’
Impressed, Jazana beamed at the man. ‘That is well, sir. Ride back and give Lord Gondoir my thanks, and tell him we shall all be at the fortress presently. First, though, I have business with the city people.’
The Rolgan looked puzzled. ‘Business, my lady?’
‘I have brought gifts for the trampled folk of Carlion. Food and warm clothes, mostly.’
‘The queen is generous. It would be our pleasure to distribute these goods for you, Gracious One. I’m sure Lord Gondoir would not wish you to soil your self amongst such people.’
‘Those people are our people now,’ Jazana corrected. ‘My people. I must ride among them, let them see me. Now back with you to the fortress and tell Lord Gondoir to expect us.’
With no further argument, the Rolgan knight bowed and he and his comrades again mounted their horses. They gave their new queen a polite salute, then turned and rode back toward the ancient fortress. This time, the mercenaries did not accompany them but instead remained behind. They told Jazana Carr that the Rolgans had spoken the truth; the capital was indeed secure. All of Lorn’s loyalists had been captured and imprisoned. Jazana asked her men why so many of the people had gathered in the streets.
‘To see you, my lady,’ replied one of them. ‘They were told you were coming. The news has roused them.’
‘Do they know we bring food?’ Jazana asked, puzzled.
‘No, Jazana Carr. They wish only to see you.’
Rodrik Varl put in, ‘You are a novelty to them. A woman ruler? They’ve never seen such a thing.’
‘If they’ve come to jeer me they will be punished,’ said Jazana angrily. ‘Come, then. Let me face them.’
With their queen leading the way, the army rode with purpose toward the waiting city. The sounds of horses’ hooves pounding the dirt rang through the valley and the surrounding hills. Rodrik Varl took up position at Jazana’s side, ordering other soldiers to flank and protect her. The queen herself rode tall in her saddle, disdainfully shaking out her long hair. She did not flinch as the city grew closer, not even when the shadow of the great wall fell upon her and she was on the threshold of the capital, with thousands of eager eyes on her. The throngs of Carlinions parted as the queen and her army entered the city. Jazana Carr had never seen such misery. Hundreds of children in ragged clothes lined the main boulevard, a wide thoroughfare that had no doubt been grand in days gone by but which now was gutted with neglect. The pavements were buckled and broken, the lamps rusted and bent. The buildings still stood, but without ornamentation, for everything that had been precious had been stripped from them, turning them a dreary grey. Wretched women sick from hunger huddled their children near their skirts, watching in astonishment the female monarch that had entered their city. Their men had fared no better. All of them, young and old, had been touched by the poverty.
Wickedness, thought Jazana. Her head swivelled to take in all the misery. Truly, Lorn was a tyrant.
Remarkably, the street was silent. Though they swelled the streets, the people of Carlion were still. Were they terrified? Jazana wondered. Their blank expressions told her nothing. At last, when most of her army and wagons of food had passed through the gates, Jazana reined her splendid horse to a halt. Suddenly she was aware of her own healthy pallor. The many gemstones on her fingers shamed her.
Rodrik Varl leaned over in his saddle. He whispered, ‘Say something.’
For a moment Jazana sat frozen. She had the army; the crowd could do nothing to her and she knew it. Yet the blankness of their eyes haunted her. What could she say to people who’d been ruined?
‘The war is over,’ she blurted out. Her voice filled the avenue. ‘I have won. But not just for myself, you see. I don’t want Carlion for my own.’
The men and women stared at her. The children frowned, confused. Jazana was stumbling, and she knew it. She licked her lips nervously.
‘You are free,’ she pronounced. ‘Women of Carlion, that means you. No more slavery at the hands of men. I am your queen now. I will not allow it. And men, hear me — you too are free. You are not the chattels of King Lorn any longer. There is no more war for you to fight and die in, or for your sons to suffer in.’
She scanned the crowd, hoping for any small hint of recognition. Still the people merely stared.
‘Are you all deaf?’ she shouted. ‘You are free! Does that mean nothing to you? Can you not hear me?’
A young woman stepped from the pavement. ‘We hear you, Jazana Carr.’ Her voice was meek, her expression earnest. ‘We do not fear you.’
‘We welcome you!’ came another. To Jazana’s shock, it was a man who spoke. Old and hunched, he nevertheless stepped boldly forward. And then there were others and others more, and suddenly the crowd was surgin
g forward. Jazana was dumbstruck. She sat atop her horse as the wretched Carlinions surrounded her, grabbing at her legs and crying her name, eager just to touch her boots or leggings. Next to her, Rodrik Varl and the others began to laugh, as astounded as she by the greeting.
‘The food, Rodrik,’ she called. ‘Open the wagons for them!’
Varl gave the order and the soldiers went to work, opening the wagons and handing out bread and wheels of cheese and dried sausages to the crowd, who cried out in glee at the sight of such bounty. Standing atop the wagons, Jazana’s men tossed loaves into the throngs. A hundred eager hands rose to catch each one.
Then, something Jazana Carr had never heard in her life rose above the ruckus. A chorus began to grow, calling her name.
‘Jazana! Jazana!’ Again and again the cheer crested from the crowd.
Do they accept me? Jazana wondered. Do they. . she could barely bring herself to think it. . love me?
Whether it was her words of freedom or simply the sight of food, Jazana couldn’t say. But she was not afraid any longer. After long years of war, she was now truly Norvor’s queen.
3
The Bleak Territories
For two days and a night Lorn rode north and west, hardly seeing anyone, hiding his face from strangers and always holding Poppy close. In the time since murdering Duke Rihards’ knights, he and his daughter had made excellent progress, stopping only to rest and to eat, and were not bothered by anyone. The weather had cooperated and the roads remained dry, and by the end of the second day Lorn’s fears began to ebb. If Jazana Carr’s mercenaries were looking for him, he had so far given them the slip. But as night fell once again, Lorn’s confidence turned. He had entered the Bleak Territories.
He had come to the northwest portion of Norvor, where Jazana Carr and her diamond mines held sway and where the fortress of Hanging Man stood, guarding Norvor’s border with Liiria. It was a vast territory, choked by mountains and barren valleys, where the rugged land discouraged travellers and people feared their neighbours. As dusk brought darkness, Lorn and his daughter entered this desolate landscape, because there was no turning back for them and because their destination lay on the other side.
‘We are in the bosom of Jazana Carr now,’ said Lorn to his daughter. Poppy was asleep in his arms so did not reply, even if she could have heard him. Lorn slowed his horse and surveyed the territory. In the distance was a range of mountains, toothy and forbidding as the sun sank behind them. The narrow road they were travelling had nearly disappeared, emptying into a scrubby valley. Lorn was exhausted and this seemed as good a place as any to rest, but he could not. Poppy had not had a drop of milk in days. He had given her water, which he had taken from the dead Rolgans, and bits of meat which he had clumsily torn into tiny bits and pressed into her mouth. He even made porridge for her, a mulch of bread and water that looked mildly unpalatable. But he knew it wasn’t fit food for the infant. At nine months, his daughter could manage solid food, but she needed milk, and quickly. Milk was as scarce as anything else in the Bleak Territories, though, and Lorn began to fret. There were farms in the Territories; he had been here before, years ago, and remembered them. But they were few and widely spaced, and finding one would be difficult in the darkness.
Still, Lorn pressed on. As dusk fell and the moon appeared, he continued through the valley, cooing to his daughter as she squirmed awake. Once, she opened her tiny eyes and looked up, and he wished that she could see him. But her eyes were sightless, or at least that was his guess. She had been blind since birth, that’s what her nurse Lariza claimed, and so did not respond when a hand was passed before her face or when someone smiled down at her. She had her mother’s eyes, though, and that pleased Lorn. He had never before been so alone in the world, and remembering Rinka comforted him.
‘She will not find us,’ he promised his daughter. He bounced her gently in the crook of his arm. ‘Jazana Carr won’t look for us here.’
It was a supposition, nothing better. Riding into the Bleak Territories was a great risk, but he supposed Jazana Carr thought him dead, or perhaps still near Carlion. He had told no one of his intention to reach Liiria.
After an hour more he stopped for rest. He gave Poppy some water from his skin, then made his pasty porridge of bread and fed it to her. The girl grimaced, but his persistence eventually won her over and she ate. Lorn looked around as he held her, studying the moonlit frontier. If he could find a farm there would be a goat or a cow that could give milk. Determined, he mounted again and rode deeper into the valley. Because there was no real road, Lorn drove his mount carefully, wary of breaking the beast’s legs in the darkness. The rubble of the Bleak Territories surrounded them, but far ahead the landscape changed, giving way to patches of green and occasional trees. Heartened, Lorn steered toward the waiting prairie. When at last he reached it he gave a grateful sigh. Against the moonlight he could see a house and few other structures, all surrounded by rugged farmland.
‘You see, daughter? Your father never fails you.’
Their gelding quickened a little, sensing Lorn’s excitement. As the distant farmstead drew nearer Lorn studied it. Like the territory itself, the house was shabby and weather-beaten. A stable stood off to its side, dilapidated, and the stone fencing was broken in places. Lorn could see no one in the fields or around the house, but there was light in the windows and he knew the place wasn’t abandoned. He knew, too, that he simply couldn’t ride up to the house and ask for help. This was Jazana Carr’s territory, after all, and Lorn’s paranoia was acute. Instead of going to the house he would go toward the stable, he decided, and steal whatever milk he needed for Poppy.
‘Keep yourself quiet, girl,’ he whispered to his daughter. ‘Let’s not be discovered now that we’re so close.’
Poppy, who was awake again, made no sound as they rode toward the farm, going around the long way so as not to be seen through the house’s dingy windows. The stable itself was dark; Lorn kept to the shadows as best he could, pausing behind trees as he made his stealthy approach. There were chickens in the yard dumbly pecking at the earth. The door to the stable was ajar. Lorn stopped a moment to listen. The clucking of chickens and the wind was all he heard. Very quietly he slid down from his horse with Poppy in his arm, then tied the steed’s reins to the tree. They were well hidden from the house by the long stable, and Lorn didn’t expect to take long.
‘Come,’ he told his daughter. It didn’t matter if she could hear him; he spoke as much to comfort himself. Together they tiptoed past the chickens in the yard, slinking low as they approached the stable. Lorn kept one eye on the house as he pulled the wooden door farther open. The darkness of the stable enveloped him at once. Taking a chance, he left the stable door open a bit to let in light, then scanned the interior. He spied hay, some tack on the wall, and a bank of rickety stalls. But no cows, and no goats. A horse that looked as old as the stable clopped at the ground in the closest stall. The other stalls were filled with oxen.
‘Fate above, I don’t believe this,’ groaned Lorn. Stepping into the stable for a closer look revealed a small stool and some farm tools, but that was all. Immediately he realised that the oxen were for working the fields, and supposed the chickens gave them eggs. They must barter for milk, he thought blackly.
‘Blast them. .’
He looked around, out of answers. There was no way he could go on without getting Poppy proper food. If there was milk in the house, he’d have to get it.
‘A thief,’ he snarled. ‘That’s what I am now. That’s what Jazana Carr has made of me.’
He was armed and a good fighter. If they wouldn’t give him food, he would take it. But he knew he couldn’t take his daughter with him, so he found a corner of the stable that seemed relatively clean, kicked a mound of hay into it to make a bed, and set the infant down. He then wrapped her more tightly in her heavy swaddling clothes, pinning her limbs. Poppy squirmed but seemed comfortable enough. With the oxen in their stalls, he knew she’d be
safe for a time.
‘I won’t be long,’ he told her. ‘Just sit tight.’
Now free of Poppy, Lorn could move more stealthily. He slunk down low as he left the stable, then crept along the stone fence as he slowly neared the house. The farmhouse was made of the same smooth rocks as the fence, with few windows and a single, splintering door. Most of the windows had been shuttered closed, but the largest one, the one nearest the door, remained open. As he neared the house, Lorn could see figures through the wavy glass. He kept his head low as he drew closer, until at last he found himself against the wall. Quickly he scanned the yard, grateful there were no dogs to give him away. Finally he snuck a single eye around the window frame and peered inside.
There was a woman. And a cooking fire glowing in the hearth. A kettle steamed over the fire. A young boy sat at a table, waiting for food. Bread and cups sat on the table with a pair of candles. Lorn’s heart thumped in his chest. Was there milk in the cups? he wondered. And what about a man? Where was the woman’s husband? She was a small thing, thin and reedy with dark, tied-back hair. Lorn could barely guess her age. Neither she nor the boy had noticed him, so he boldly moved his other eye to the glass, viewing all of the small room. Now he saw a cradle in the corner, and a baby in the cradle. Boy or girl he couldn’t say, but he could tell the child was nearly Poppy’s age.
And then his dark idea occurred to him.
‘Oh, Fate,’ he whispered. ‘Could I?’
There was nothing to be done for it. He’d come this far already. Killing good men and betraying his people hadn’t stopped him. Why then should this? He’d be as gentle as he could, he decided. At his side he wore his sword. He thought about it a moment, then chose his dagger instead, slipping the blade from its sheath. If there was a man inside the house, he would deal with him. If there was more than one. .
There isn’t, he decided in an instant. And the woman would obey him; she had the children to protect. He straightened, crossed the window without being seen, then went to the door. Without pausing, he knocked loudly. Behind the door he heard a surprised commotion. In his right hand he held his dagger, but let it dangle less threateningly at his side. A hush from inside followed. Lorn knocked again, this time more forcefully.