The Wounded Guardian (42 page)

‘Aye, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,’ the oldest farmer said.

Martil looked at the group. It was several families, with plenty of children. The older girls and the younger wives were being comforted by the others.

‘I am Captain Martil, and I serve Queen Merren. What do you want?’

‘Firstly, to thank you for saving us from these bastards. They just rode in and told us they were soldiers of Duke Gello, then they took the women and our animals! Are you going to stay here and protect us now?’

This was what Martil had been afraid of. ‘We cannot. There are far more of them, and if they knew we were here, they would bring hundreds of men and destroy this valley.’

‘That was what we thought. And I suppose they’ll be back?’

‘They will,’ Martil admitted. It was just too rich a target.

‘Then we want to come with you.’

‘We want to fight!’ a young man in his early twenties declared angrily.

Martil almost had to struggle to keep the smile from his face. It was as he had predicted. Revenge was a powerful motivator.

‘Who are you?’ Martil looked at the young farmer. He had broad shoulders and brown hair, and a friendly-looking face that was now twisted with anger and grief.

‘Sirron. They killed my father and uncles. Me and my brothers want revenge.’

Barrett stepped up beside Martil. ‘This is perfect. Recruits for our cause,’ he whispered.

‘And the Dragon Sword had nothing to do with it. It’s all the work of Havrick,’ Martil muttered back, although he surreptitiously checked the hilt, just in case. Then he turned back to the farmers.

‘You are welcome to come back with us. How many want to fight?’

The older farmers were too old to fight but between them they had eight sons aged from their early twenties to their mid-teens, all strengthened by farm work and just in need of some training.

‘You’ll serve with Lieutenant Wime and his men. Wime, make sure you assign a couple of your sergeants to watch them. I want them back here with clothes and livestock, and those wagons burned as fast as possible.’

As they hurried off to collect their possessions, Martil turned to Barrett. Since their conversation in the forest, they had been able to work together without arguing, pleasing Merren no end. Now he would put that cautious friendship to the test.

‘I have a few questions for you. Can you keep the gateway open long enough to get goats and some cattle through?’

‘As long as each is held by a person touching my staff. We cannot just drive them through; who knows where they would end up, or what would happen to them. We are talking about a difficult and demanding piece of magic here…’

‘Yes, yes, I know your powers are unbelievable. Can you do it?’

Barrett gritted his teeth. ‘One day you will learn the incredible amount of work and study that has gone into my helping you. Then you might appreciate it when I say yes. What else?’

‘We cannot tell the Queen what happened out here. If she knows that Havrick’s men are leaving on a raping and pillaging mission each morning, what do you think her reaction will be?’

‘She’ll want us to stop them.’

‘Aye. And when we do, we’ll stop the flow of recruits. We need to use Havrick to get the countryside ready to rise in anger. This is what we have been waiting for! All the time we have been worried the people have become too timid, that they are not ready to rise up and join the Queen’s cause. Well, they will have no choice if Havrick sets his men loose on them! But if we stop Havrick too soon, we’ll be back to where we started.’

Barrett stared at him, appalled. ‘So you want men to be killed, farms burned and women raped?’

‘No, but I’m not giving those orders. Havrick is. I just need to take advantage of it. So can you keep your tongue under control?’

Barrett shook his head. ‘This is not the action of a Dragon Sword wielder,’ he said finally.

‘This is what we need to do to win,’ Martil countered.

‘I’ll think about it,’ was all Barrett would say.

‘Take as long as you want. Every day we leave them will bring us more recruits.’ Martil turned away from the wizard. Victory was all that mattered. The complacent Norstalines would be shocked out of their passivity by Havrick’s brutality and then he would have plenty of recruits. Why, then, did he feel so guilty?

Conal had been nervous about working with Count Sendric at first. After all, Queen Merren had told him the man was a noble of the old school, who rarely talked to peasants. But after the first few days, when the only times they had spoken were for Sendric to give orders, the Count had gradually thawed. Part of this was due to the efficient way Conal carried out those orders but the ex-bandit felt his ability to deflect the Queen’s anger and frustration during council meetings had been the real turning point. Sendric had, of course, seen the Queen in action for years in the Royal Council. Anyone who could deal with her so effectively automatically won his respect, even if he was a former bandit. Although that part of Conal’s life was slowly fading from his memory. It was strange. His memories of his years in the militia, which had seemed so hazy when he was living under Danir in Thest, were crystal clear now. Instead it was the things he had done and said as a bandit that were like mist. They seemed more like a tale from a saga than something that had happened to him. Since Martil had walked into his inn, his life had dramatically changed for the better—apart from the whole tankard-of-urine incident, of course. Feeling like a man again was a treasure beyond price. It took an effort to force his mind away from these thoughts and onto what the
Count was saying. It seemed the old noble was reevaluating his life, his standards and the things he had lived by. The mutilation and death of his daughter had opened his eyes to reality.

‘I regret it now, of course, but I did not make things easy for the Queen,’ the Count admitted.

The pair of them were walking back down the tunnel into the town. Naturally they did not want to come up in either the stables or the keep itself but the Count intended to use the third exit from the tunnel, into the cellars of Rocus’s old house. The walk was a long one, and it was inevitable they talked to pass the time.

‘I had to be careful. After all, my daughter was her chief lady-in-waiting, while my dislike of Duke Gello and his scheming mother, Ivene, had gone back years. If I wanted to obtain a fair share of taxes for my district, I had to make deals with other nobles, which usually meant Gello’s supporters, such as Cessor and Worick. If I had just supported the Queen, and opposed what Gello wanted, my town would have suffered. Naturally I did not think Gello would go so far as to steal the Dragon Sword! I just thought he wanted to get his hands on as much power as possible, then ensure his son was named the next King. But she did not make things easy, either. She has a terrible tongue on her, does our Queen. You don’t want to cross her in the Royal Council!’

Conal muttered agreement. He was tempted to point out that by only doing what was best for himself, rather than what was best for his country, the Count had brought his troubles upon himself. But he was getting on well with Sendric now, and did not want to spoil that by highlighting inconvenient truths.

‘And the other nobles?’ he merely asked.

‘Obviously Gello’s men knew what was going on all the time, they were well organised and came into each meeting with a strategy for dividing the opposition and winning the vote. I mean, such a thing had never been done before!’

Conal had to bite his tongue and change the subject before he said something he would regret. ‘So who will we be meeting in Sendric?’ the old bandit asked.

‘First, we’ll make contact with Gratt. Then we shall talk to the town council. They’ll be able to tell us what the merchants and shopkeepers think.’

Conal was thankful the tunnel was dark, so he could roll his eyes, safe in the knowledge he would not be seen. The Count may be changing but there were some aspects of the old ways he held to.

‘And I can perhaps get a feel for how the ordinary people are thinking,’ he offered.

Sendric paused for a moment. ‘That is a good idea,’ he said, with some surprise.

Havrick stared at the map in mounting rage and frustration. How could they have slipped past his forces to strike at that forage party? Now he was running short of food. Some of the officers were talking about going on to half rations, although he was damned if he was going to go without because of the incompetence of others.

He refused to look up, to where Jennar and the other officers waited. A full day of searching through the woods had found nothing, although they had admittedly covered little ground because the large companies of men were finding it hard to move through the trees. Worse, today it was raining, a constant drizzle that slowed everything and dampened morale.

A squad had returned from the town with a slight ray of hope—a pair of protesting wizards, a young man with a long moustache and an old man with a patchy white beard. Neither inspired much confidence but they were better than nothing. This damned wizard Barrett was causing him no end of trouble.

‘We continue as before,’ Havrick declared. ‘Each supply party will now have fifty heavy cavalry as the
escort. The local people must be helping them somehow. We must show them how foolish it is not to obey the orders of Duke Gello. Anyone you suspect of helping our foes, burn their farms and take everything they have. That will soon stop the flow of supplies to the enemy.’

‘And to us, sir. There are many farms in this district, but they are well spread out. Soon we will be looking at forage parties having to stay out overnight, as they will not be able to return before nightfall. And, with respect, sir, burning out farms is not going to win us friends here. It will only make our task more difficult.’ Jennar felt he had to speak up. He had been disgusted by what had happened back at the town and had no desire to see it repeated across the countryside.

But Havrick just glowered at Jennar.

‘We are not here to make friends, Lieutenant. We are here to destroy a band of rebels. As long as we accomplish that task, nothing else matters. This area is obviously a hotbed of rebellion. We must show them the consequences. Meanwhile, we must redouble our efforts in searching. They cannot be far away now. Two of your groups will have wizards with them, to help guide and ease their progress.’ He gestured to where his men guarded the pair.

‘Sir, I must protest! We cannot provide the sort of help you require! You cannot expect us to go against a mage like Barrett!’ The older wizard leaned on his heavily-decorated staff and clutched his long orange robes closer around him. His younger companion nodded in agreement.

Havrick ignored that. ‘Jennar, if they refuse to help you, then flog them. A touch of the whip should be enough to persuade them where their duty lies.’

Martil had quickly persuaded Merren that they needed time to train up their new recruits. He made sure he did this while Barrett slept, exhausted from the effort of working magic. He had proved able to hold open a gateway long enough for the men, the farmers, a dozen cattle and two score goats to go through, but it had been hard work for him. Martil had stood beside him, urging people to hurry, but keep hold of the wizard’s oaken staff if they did not want to end their days embedded in a tree. Then Barrett had to clear an area so the livestock could have somewhere to graze.

Despite their talk, Martil did not trust Barrett to refrain from blurting out that Havrick’s men were rampaging through the countryside. He needed time for the countryside to get angry and want to rise up against Havrick. He needed a good reason to keep Barrett away from Merren—and Count Sendric had provided a perfect one, sending back a message from town, carried by one of Barrett’s birds.

The wizard had provided Sendric and Conal with half a dozen small birds that would fly straight to him when released from their cage. And the message this one brought was important—that Havrick had dragged the area’s only two wizards out to the woods to help his search. This was a serious danger to their plan to keep Havrick searching in the wrong direction. Just as Barrett was using the local wildlife as scouts, those wizards could also utilise the birds and the animals to take the search in the right direction. The easiest solution would be to kill the wizards but Merren did not want them to suffer on Havrick’s behalf.

So, as soon as he woke, Barrett was sent out into the woods, with Tarik and his men to support him, with orders to stop the wizards and buy the recruits enough time to be trained.

The ploy was simple—hunters sent a few volleys of shafts as the companies of soldiers blundered through the trees, killing and wounding a handful, then faded away once more. It was an effective brake on progress.

Then Barrett was able to concentrate on the groups with the wizards. Thanks to his magic, they were unable to summon so much as a sparrow to help their search, while their efforts to make the woods easier to march through saw Barrett reply by making things grow faster, to the point where it became impenetrable, right where the soldiers were looking.

It worked perfectly. When soldiers weren’t exhausting themselves trying to hack through immensely thick undergrowth, they were diving for cover as a hail of arrows flew in. Being sent out front as a scout became a death sentence for the soldiers.

Meanwhile, Havrick was discovering that wizards were not the answer to all his problems. Trying—and failing—to achieve much with magic still exhausted them, and searching time was cut down considerably. The older mage had to be carried around by four sweating soldiers in a rough sedan chair. Then they were always demanding food to replenish their energy, consuming twice what the average trooper could live on. Havrick’s demands for faster progress were constantly being met with Jennar’s reply that they had to stop and wait for the wizards to catch up. It was becoming a struggle for Havrick to keep his temper.

Without Barrett, Karia became their source of information, and Martil made sure she concentrated only on what was happening in the woods.

Meanwhile he had the time to work not just on Sirron and his farm boys, but also on the other men. They had performed well from ambush and had stood their ground as the archers destroyed a small band of cavalry but Martil knew the next time they fought, it would be against a full squadron of cavalry, enough men so it would come down to a stand-up fight.

The men were ordered to wear hauberks. Some were second-hand, most of these had arrow holes in them, crudely patched, while the guardsmen’s ones looked impeccable. Martil could see how the farm boys were struggling in the heavy coats. While a hauberk did not restrict movement initially, the weight grew progressively heavier. Even the fittest of men would tire swiftly fighting in one. Then he made them take up shields and spears. Every man was unfamiliar with these but Martil knew this was the weaponry that would keep them alive when fighting cavalry.

He drilled them hard, teaching them the basics of spear fighting, keeping them at it until their right arms were too tired to even lift the heavy spears any more and they were heartily sick of practising the same strokes: up at a cavalryman, down at an infantryman, and the thrust from the second row of a shield wall into the enemy’s front line. He fretted that the training was nowhere near enough but knew he did not have much time so, as quickly as he dared, he took them to the next stage.

‘A shield wall only succeeds while the men in it have courage and heart,’ Martil told them. ‘But if you
do not have trust in each other, if you fear for your own safety, it will crack like an egg. Stay together and live. Try to run and you die. Understand?’

He formed them into three ranks, the guardsmen at the front and sides, the farm boys at the back and the militia in the middle. The guardsmen dropped to one knee, shields rammed into the ground, spears pointing upwards. The militia stood close behind them, shields held high to protect both themselves and the guardsmen, spears also held high. The farm boys were close behind them, bracing the militia and supporting the spears. He rode along the front of the wall then, showing them how no horse would charge home into a tightly packed wall of spears.

He took one of the captured heavy cavalry horses, a huge beast, and spurred it at the line. He knew that, to the men in the front row, it was a daunting sight. But even the trained warhorse would not press home the charge and veered away from the massed iron points.

‘A man on a horse needs four feet of room to ride and swing his sword. A man with a shield and spear needs only two feet! So each trooper is riding down a corridor that ends in three ranks of two spears—that’s six spears to each horseman!’

Then he formed them into a shield wall, and had men take turns standing in each row, as well as joining him in running at the shield wall and forcing it to stand firm to repel them. By the end of the day, the men were exhausted, but Martil felt they all had a better idea of what they would need to do. They were not ready to take on a rival shield wall, but he hoped they could stand up to one charge of cavalry.

Martil washed quickly in the cold stream and went to find Karia. He knew she had been playing
with Merren and he thought he should give the Queen a break.

He arrived to find Merren working on Karia’s reading. He watched them for a while, as they were both absorbed in the simple sheet of parchment from which Karia was reading, and occasionally crossing out and correcting a word, with a little help from Merren. He listened to what was a story about a beautiful queen who kept having handsome princes arrive, wanting to marry her, but who ruled happily by herself, without silly men.

Karia was sounding out the words, helped by Merren, who looked up and smiled as Martil stepped into the warm cave.

‘I don’t think I know that saga,’ he smiled.

‘It’s one we wrote ourselves. It’s a game we have been playing, so we thought we’d write it down,’ Karia explained.

‘The plot sounds good,’ Martil agreed. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’

‘Let’s all go for a walk!’ Karia jumped up.

‘Look, I don’t think the Queen…’ Martil began but Merren cut him off.

‘I need some fresh air,’ she said.

It was a strange walk. Karia gambolled along between them, using her magic to make them laugh. Fish jumped out of the stream to wave at them, animals came up to talk, and tell them nice spots to visit. Then she wanted to pick flowers, and made a bush grow them until there was enough for a bunch.

‘Perhaps you should give them to Merren, to thank her for looking after you,’ Martil suggested.

‘I think we look after each other,’ Merren smiled.

‘She’s helping me with my reading and writing.
But I’m not that good yet. You’ll still have to read me stories,’ Karia declared.

Martil had to hold back a laugh. ‘I’ll be happy to,’ he said gravely.

Walking through the trees, away from the camp, gave him a strange feeling. He thought for a moment and realised it was peace. He could just enjoy a time when he did not have to worry about planning a battle, fighting, or waving the bloody Dragon Sword to win the war. He looked at the little girl and the Queen, who were going through the flowering bush to find the best blooms. They were both changing. The scared, dirty, moody little girl he had first met was gone, replaced by someone much happier; someone who was a joy to be around. Now, when he had to be elsewhere, he missed her. He knew he had changed, as well. The anger was still there—he guessed it would always be part of him—but around her it was buried deep. The Queen, too, seemed to be softening—certainly relaxing. He could not help but look at them together and feel it would not be too great a stretch of the imagination to see this as a family. It was a dream that could not come true but he told himself there was no harm in dreaming, surely?

Karia giggled as Merren tickled her with a flower. Sometimes she felt as though she never wanted to leave this place. When she had first seen it, she had not thought that—it just reminded her of the time she had spent with her da and brothers out in the woods. That seemed merely a bad dream now. It was as if it had happened to someone else. Here there was plenty of food and people gave her their attention and care. She loved playing with Merren, who talked to her as if she were a grown-up, and had
even plaited her hair once. Barrett was rarely fun, but he was always kind, and learning magic was the most exciting thing she had ever done. Each day brought new enchantments. She felt—and saw—the world come alive around her. And then there was Martil. When she was with him, she felt safe. He was gentle and kind, answered her questions and gave her treats. He was like a big teddy bear. A hairy, smelly, often sweaty teddy bear but still a nice one.

Merren felt she had discovered a different side to herself these last few days with Karia. All her life she had been so conscious of how she was viewed by other people. The dignity of her position meant that having fun could never be acceptable. Fun, for her, was a state banquet, or perhaps learning a particularly difficult point of law. But with Karia, there was none of that fear. She could just relax and do what she liked. And being silly was fun. Saying silly things, doing silly things; it was just good to laugh and not have to worry about the other person’s ulterior motives. What this meant for her rule, and for what she would look for in her private life, she did not know. It was too early to say and, besides, she was apprehensive of thinking about that too much. It was enough to enjoy the time out here with Karia—and Martil. He was intriguing. She glanced up at him and saw the way he was looking at how she and Karia were playing. It was clear what he was thinking. There was that plan of hers to try and encourage his human side but the more time she spent with him, the more she was unsure how far to push it. It was one thing to plan what she was going to say—actually doing it was something else entirely. Worse, she was beginning to wonder what she did want. Convention—and the terms of the deal her
father had made with Duchess Ivene—dictated that she make her marriage an affair of state, but now she wanted to rebel against everything her father—and her aunt—had laid out for her. She was going to be her own style of Queen and perhaps that included choosing who she wanted to be with. Karia was the one who broke the silence.