The Wounded Guardian (57 page)

She turned away. Without thinking, he followed her and put his arms around her.

She turned in his arms, so she was facing him. ‘If they get in, will you…will you,’ she paused, unable to go on, and gestured at the Dragon Sword. ‘I will not be dragged before Gello in chains, to be abused and killed like my poor friends.’

Martil felt his despair slide away, to be replaced by anger. ‘We are not finished yet,’ he growled. ‘Perhaps they are cavalry, who might be tricked. Karia, did the crow tell you what banner they were holding?’

Karia, who had been tucking into the refreshments, stopped guiltily.

‘It was a funny one. A golden horse above some plant, on a green background. It sounded pretty.’

Martil let go of Merren and stared at Karia in shock.

‘Isn’t that good? Surely a horse means they are cavalry?’ Merren said.

But Martil had grabbed a quill and was hastily scratching out a design on the map on the table.

‘Was it like that? The banner? Was it that?’ he demanded.

Karia looked at it critically. ‘I think so,’ she finally agreed. ‘Crows aren’t that good at describing things, you know.’

Martil turned to Merren, a strange expression on his face.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘That was my regiment’s personal banner,’ he said slowly, disbelievingly. ‘The horse over a sheaf of wheat, as a nod to my farming background. I wanted to have a sheep, for we had a sheep farm, but Tomon told me nobody would fight under the banner of a sheep.’

‘Your banner? What does that mean?’ Merren demanded.

Martil picked up Karia, who made a grab for an oatcake just in time, so she could keep eating.

‘Let’s go and find out,’ he said.

Barrett confirmed the design of the banner, and word swiftly spread. The despair that had gripped the town turned to wonder, and all crowded onto the walls to watch the small army of men ride into sight.

They stopped, just out of bowshot of the town, and a lead group, about a score of men, dismounted, then walked forward, the banner and a flag of truce held aloft. Martil rode out on Tomon, along with a dozen men in armour. Merren, Father Quiller, Barrett and Karia stayed in the safety of the gate while, above, Tarik and his archers waited with arrows on their strings. But there was no need for that.

As soon as Martil reined in Tomon, the men removed their helms and dropped to one knee in unison.

‘Sergeant Nerrin!’ Martil exclaimed, jumping down from the saddle and striding over to the smiling Ralloran.

‘Yes, Captain?’

‘Sergeant, I won’t deny that you are indeed a welcome sight, but what are you doing here?’ Martil looked across and recognised the men kneeling with Nerrin—it was the caravan guard he had stopped Rocus from fighting, before the battle, as well as the guards he had met back in Wollin and at the Golden Gate. He caught the eye of Corporal Kesbury, who winked at him. ‘I thought I sent you away.’

‘Sir, you ordered me to walk away from your last battle. We obeyed that order but we could not leave Captain Martil to fight alone. We followed you into Berellia, we will follow you anywhere.’

‘But how did you…’

‘We put the word out, and men came running. Let’s just say it will be difficult to hire caravan guards or stop bar fights for the next few months. The bards are telling the people only what Gello wants them to hear but we have seen what Duke Gello is doing to the rest of the country. We know he is no friend of Rallorans and we wanted to see the Queen that you would champion. We also wanted…’ Nerrin paused for a moment before meeting Martil’s eyes.

‘Sir, you must feel it too. Nothing has been right since Bellic. We drink too much, we can’t sleep for the nightmares. We saved our country, and yet here we are, guarding caravans for rich merchants who despise us, or throwing drunken Norstalines out of taverns at the end of the night. Sir, you will not be ordering us to our deaths; our lives finished after Bellic. You will be giving us another chance at life—to serve a queen who is trying to save her throne…’

Martil could not stand to meet Nerrin’s eyes. His words struck home, because they were almost exactly what he had been feeling. He looked around
at the Rallorans massed behind Nerrin, seeing many faces he remembered, even if the names did not spring to mind. Men nodded or saluted as they caught his eye.

‘Sir, we have been searching for a purpose since the wars ended. Command us and we shall follow,’ Nerrin said quietly.

Martil still could not meet his gaze. To save himself from speaking, he turned and waved to Merren. At the signal, she and the others rode out, as he marched to meet them.

His chest felt tight, swollen with pride that these men would make such a sacrifice, with fear that he would lead them to their deaths and with hope they would be able to find peace—and win this war for Merren.

‘My Queen, these are the finest fighting men in the land. This is the answer you have been praying for. With them we can take the northern towns, and truly begin this rebellion. But for me to lead them into battle once more is going to be difficult…’

Merren silenced him with a look. ‘You have a second chance to atone for the deeds of Bellic. Do these men not deserve the same chance?’

‘That’s what I mean! Every man of them marched into Bellic. That is why they are here, not heroes and husbands and fathers back in Rallora. I tell you this, because we tried and punished Gello’s men for the crimes of looting, burning, raping and killing. These men are all guilty of that. What makes them different from Gello’s men, I cannot say.’

Merren smiled grimly. ‘I can say. They feel regret and guilt for what they did. No man is all good or all evil; in war, there is a fine line between a hero who kills many to win a battle and a murderer. That these
men are here at all tells me they are the good ones. A man who can rape and murder and then go home and raise a family, live a normal life—that is a man I fear. A man who is haunted by what he has done and wants to make amends—that is a man I welcome. That sergeant described how you felt, did he not?’

Martil could only nod, unable to speak.

‘You found Karia, which gave you a purpose. But these men are tormented still. We shall give them a purpose. They cannot make up for what they did, but they can try. For too many years, Norstalos has only cared about birthright and ancestry. A man’s worth has been summed up by his family’s fortune and history. No more. These are the sort of men we want. Tell them.’

Martil had to wait for a moment, until he was sure he could give the orders without his voice breaking.
You are the War Captain, you must be strong
, he told himself, and was able to turn around and walk back towards Nerrin, his face impassive.

Nerrin’s face showed his emotions: a desperate desire for acceptance, and a dire fear he would be refused.

‘Sergeant, form the men up,’ Martil ordered flatly, giving nothing away.

Nerrin stood and barked out orders, which were taken up instantly. Men jumped down from horses, rammed stakes into the ground to tether them, and then ran to form up. In almost no time, there were ten glittering ranks facing the town, every man wearing armour and helm, carrying sword and shield, some even with bows.

‘Men, I swore an oath that I would never lead Rallorans into battle again,’ he roared. ‘I cannot break that oath.’

He paused for a heartbeat, seeing the ripple of hurt and disappointment moving down the ranks.

‘So from now on, you are all honorary Norstalines!’

It took a moment for this to sink in, then the men roared with laughter, cheered, slapped each other on the back and waved at the townsfolk on the walls, who were watching this.

‘Just because you’re now Norstalines, doesn’t mean you can forget about discipline!’ he bellowed, and the ranks went from raucous cheers to silence, standing rigidly at attention.

He smiled. Despite not wanting to lead Rallorans again, every one of them was a hardened warrior, a survivor of a dozen battles. His job had just become far easier. ‘Salute your Queen!’ he roared, gesturing towards Merren, who nudged her horse forward, so they could see her better.

Instantly more than one thousand men dropped to their knees, and one thousand swords flashed into the air in a formal salute.

‘We are creating a new Norstalos, one where men and women can live in peace. So as New Norstalines, you will be the perfect men to fight for us! Know that you will finally earn a country’s undying gratitude. Whatever happens, I will never forget you gave up the peace you had earned at such a high price, to come and fight for us in our time of need. I am proud of you all!’ she told them.

They stood then, and cheered, and Martil did not stop them.

‘First Lieutenant Nerrin!’

‘But, sir, I am just a…’

‘Nerrin, you managed to bring a regiment of Rallorans together across a country and get them
past Gello’s patrols. You are now a First Lieutenant. Bring any other officers or sergeants you found, and we shall discuss our plans for freeing the north of the country in a week.’

‘A week, sir?’

Martil smiled. ‘We have a little ceremony to perform first. We are going to declare war on Gello.’

The news of Havrick’s defeat struck Gello like a thunderbolt. His first response was terror, stark fear that he had failed again. In an instant he was transported back to that terrible day, when he had been unable to draw the Dragon Sword. He could not lose again! Then came the anger. He would not be defeated! He would be triumphant—no matter what. He would do whatever it took to secure victory. This would not stop him.

The supply drivers, the first to return with the news of the defeat, were questioned at length, before being flogged and hanged. When the soldiers who had lost their right hands to Merren’s justice finally returned, they faced the same fate.

Meanwhile the duke prepared his plans. The one thing that comforted him was that the garrisons on the other two northern towns had sent scouts deep into the countryside towards Sendric and reported no sign of an army approaching to attack either of them. He had been doubly relieved that he had the country’s bards under such strict control. News of this defeat could have seen support for Merren swell dramatically. But he had ensured the bards would say nothing. It was just another stain on his honour that would have to be
wiped away. His cousin could not have done this—it must have been her tame Ralloran. Well, any desire he had to talk to Captain Martil was gone now. They would pay for what they had done. He called in his war captains to discuss how.

‘We should just gather the army and head north,’ Captain Feld declared. ‘They might have been able to defeat that fool Havrick, but there is no way they can stand against us.’

Gello brooded over a map. ‘It has the virtue of simplicity, but it means we must release our grip on the country. After we abolished the town councils and disbanded the town militia, there is nothing to stop the towns rising against us if we remove our garrisons. And what if that is their plan? We pull every garrison out of every town and march north, only to find these rebels appearing in the towns we left behind. That was, after all, what they did to Havrick. They let him get far away from his base, and his supplies, then they slipped in behind him.’

‘Sire, with respect, the country is supine. We could strip every garrison in every town and there would not be any trouble,’ Captain Medow declared.

‘You have not been out in the towns lately,’ Captain Beq protested. ‘Our men have been ordered to take what they want, and who they want, without fear of punishment. Without the militia, they are the law in these towns. At the moment nobody dares even hold a meeting, because we have companies in every town and city. But take those men away and that will change. Already we are throwing a handful of men in prison each day because they are protesting against what we have done to their wives or daughters.’

Gello rubbed his face. He had the country in an iron grip, but he could not help worrying about what
would happen if that grip relaxed. He was confident that once he began invading other countries, people would rally behind him. Besides, they would begin to enjoy the rivers of plunder that would flow back from the conquered countries.

But, for now, they might just decide to rise up, especially if some fool was waving the Dragon Sword at them.

‘I’m not going to march north unless I have the men to both hold the towns and destroy this pathetic rebellion of Merren’s,’ he declared. ‘How are our new regiments progressing?’

‘Slowly, sire,’ Captain Grissum admitted. ‘Few show the right sort of spirit.’

Gello ground his teeth. ‘How long have we got?’ he snarled. ‘We need to finish them before winter arrives. As long as we have them bottled up in the north, they cannot raise enough men to trouble us. But what if word of Havrick’s defeat and the Dragon Sword has spread? What if men try to join them? I want to see the reports from the patrols in the passes. Who is in command of those?’

The reports were quickly found, and an officer hurriedly dragged before Gello and his captains to talk about them.

‘Sire, we have a company of light cavalry spread across the three passes,’ he reported, trying not to tremble too much.

‘Not enough,’ Gello growled. ‘We must have a full company on each pass. See to it. Luckily we acted now. Have there been any parties of men trying to get past your patrols?’

The officer, sweating heavily, shook his head. ‘Only the usual travellers, sire. Merchants and so forth.’

‘Nothing unusual?’ Gello demanded.

The officer nervously leafed through the reports. ‘A few Rallorans, sire. Caravan guards. They said they were going to see an old friend.’

‘Going to see an old friend? Why would those stinking barbarians have any friends in this country? We should run the scum out of here, taking the jobs of honest Norstalines! Well, at least we…’

Captain Beq cleared his throat. ‘Sire, as you know, I am looking after supplies for our invasion plans. This report of the Rallorans tallies with a concern we have.’ ‘What concern?’ Gello demanded.

‘The merchants have been reporting it is near-impossible to find caravan guards or guards for taverns and brothels. It seems the Rallorans have disappeared.’

‘Disappeared? What do you mean, disappeared? How many are we talking about?’ Gello snarled.

Beq gulped. ‘It is hard to put an exact number…’ he began, then saw the expression on Gello’s face and blurted out, ‘I think nearly one thousand have gone.’

‘Gone? Gone where?’ Gello stopped and studied the map again. ‘Going to visit an old friend? By the beard of Aroaril, they’re heading to Sendric! That bastard helping the Queen is one of their old war captains! He’s put out the word and they’re running to help him! They must have used the side trails to avoid the main road and our patrols!’

He spun to face the officer who had delivered the report. ‘No Ralloran mongrels have friends here! I want you to head north and take command of these reinforced patrols. Nobody else is to get through. Then I want you to have the men in charge at each pass killed!’

The officer had gone deathly white.

‘Now!’ Gello roared.

The officer fled and the captains shrank back from Gello’s anger. Captain Beq, in particular, had the look of a man who could see his own death coming.

Gello looked at him fiercely. ‘This changes everything. With one thousand Rallorans, they could hold Sendric against us for a year. That’s if they don’t just disappear behind us and spring up in a score of towns. When we march north, we need a force so overwhelming, there is no way they can stop us. We need more regiments, ones with the right fighting spirit. That bitch Merren used militia against us—we shall use them against her. Round me up a regiment of militia—and empty out the prisons as well. A regiment of criminals will be ideal to send against the north. And we’ll make the bards get them in the right mood for killing Rallorans. But we need another strategy to buy us more time. Perhaps, Captain Beq, I should send you north to give us that time.’

Beq saw the other captains staring at him hungrily, eager to see his downfall. But from the depths of his despair, he clutched at a sudden hope.

‘Sire, I know how to give us enough time and ensure the people will never rise against us,’ he gabbled.

Gello sniffed. ‘This had better be good.’

Beq gulped. But if he succeeded, at least he would have regained his former position of favour.

‘We start telling everyone the Rallorans have invaded. A thousand Butchers of Bellic are sitting in the north, ready to descend on honest Norstaline towns and rape and massacre everyone. The people may be afraid of our men but we can make them terrified of the Queen and her Rallorans!’

Gello thought about it. And the more he thought, the more he liked it. The whole country knew about Bellic. the stupid saga had been sung in taverns across the land before falling out of fashion in favour of a tale about a young lad and his talking cat. The people believed what the bards told them, and he was making sure the bards only told the people what he wanted them to hear. What better way to unite the country than to make them afraid of the Rallorans? Perhaps he had been rash in letting his men loose on the towns…but it had ensured they would not be lured by the Dragon Sword and now he could refashion himself as the protector of Norstalos. A strong arm against the Bitch Queen and her Butcher Rallorans. Yes, he liked that!

‘Captain, I think you have just saved yourself. We shall make the people terrified of the Bitch Queen and her Butcher Rallorans. None will join her then. We shall let them rot away in the north, until we are ready to go and destroy them. We might even be able to persuade the rangers and archers to fight them. And I will meet with the Berellian ambassador after my coronation to discuss how they can help us. Arrange it.’

Bells rang out across the town and across the city. In Sendric, cheering crowds lined the streets, waved and threw flowers as the procession went from the keep to the main church in town. Rocus led the procession, followed by a score of men in full armour, all wearing the blue surcoats of Sendric. Then came the Queen, Martil, Barrett, Sendric and the others, followed by a squad of townsfolk in armour, and a score of Rallorans. All were cheered enthusiastically.

In Norstalos City, hundreds of people were dragged out of their homes by armed men, forced to line the square and made to cheer and applaud by grim soldiers with drawn swords.

In Sendric, Queen Merren walked through the church, escorted by Karia, who scattered flower petals in the air—petals that danced and floated but did not drop to the ground. The pews were filled with townsfolk and farmers, as well as the new army officers. Father Quiller officiated.

In the city, army officers and nobles sat, some reluctantly, by a makeshift altar set up in the palace square. Father Prent officiated, already in the robes of an archbishop, albeit ones with extra gold braiding.

In Sendric, Merren swore an oath to protect and free her country, and unveiled a new standard, a silver dragon on a dark blue background. As she did so, Martil showed the Dragon Sword, and she called on all true Norstalines to help fight for the new flag and the old symbol. She gave her speech about a new Norstalos, where people would be judged by the worth of their actions and abilities, not by how noble their birthright. As a symbol of this, she announced that the town would actually get the chance to elect its own council, rather than use the time-honoured method of having the local nobleman—in this case Sendric—select the town council. Merren also declared Duke Gello a traitor to the crown, and announced all should renounce their loyalty to a false king and serve Norstalos instead. The service, the words made magically audible outside to the massed crowds, drew enormous cheers.

In the city, Gello was presented with the fake Dragon Sword, which he drew to prompted
applause, then accepted the crown from Prent, to prompted cheers. He swore an oath to see Norstalos rule the world, and promised rich lands and wagons of plunder to all who supported him. He also promised to see Queen Merren, and all who helped her, tortured to death, and their families killed. Finally, he announced that a thousand Butchers of Bellic were loose in the north, and it was the duty of all Norstalines to see them dead.

After the ceremony in Sendric, the Queen rode around the town, handing out money to women and children of men who had died in the battle, as well as giving food to the poor. Rocus had returned from his trip to the mines with horses laden with gold and silver—and despite Sendric’s protestations, she was determined that the people would share in it. Behind her rode Martil and the other officers, all now wearing the new blue surcoats with a white dragon design. The women of the town had worked hard to dye the red surcoats of Havrick’s men to the new colour, with a little magical help from the town’s wizards. Then Merren joined an enormous street party, with tables set up along the length of the town. Thanks to the magic of Barrett, Karia and the town’s wizards, and the efforts of the chained prisoners, the supply situation was much better, with plenty of food coming in from farms—certainly enough for this celebration.

Merren could not keep the smile from her face at that party. The town had suffered but it was revelling in its freedom. It felt as though a new spirit had gripped the people and the chance to choose their own council had them all excited. After sitting in a palace, waiting in vain for someone to show they cared that she had been deposed, this was heady stuff.

Martil made sure Karia had plenty of food, while he laughed and joked with his officers Wime, Tarik, Rocus and Nerrin before joining as many of his men as possible for a drink. Since taking command of the Rallorans, he felt far more at ease with himself. The only cloud on the horizon was how difficult it had become to see Merren without Barrett hanging around.

Karia was as happy as she had ever been. Between Martil, Merren and Barrett, she was always guaranteed of loving attention. She had to work hard to remember her time with Edil now. As for her magic, she was even impressing the town’s wizards.

Conal, his leg now healed, was enjoying himself thoroughly. One side effect of the battle was the number of widows in the town—and as a hero of the struggle in the keep, he was a busy man.

Barrett, too, was popular with the town’s widows but his heart was set on Merren—and his mind was beginning to obsess over Martil. Still, it was impossible not to enjoy that party.

But laugh as they might, eat and drink as they did, looming above them all was their concern over what was happening down south.

Sergeant Hutter groaned. He wanted to die. Actually, that wasn’t quite right. He wanted to eat a huge plate of sweet pastries, drink some fine wine, relax in bed and
then
die.

‘Get up, you fat bastard! We’re going to sweat you into shape if it’s the last thing we do! Get up! Norstalos needs even sugar-bellied, militia shit-shovellers!’

Hutter groaned again and hauled himself to his
feet. A hand grabbed hold of his sweaty tunic and shoved him forward.

‘Now run! Run until we get rid of that sack of lard hanging above your belt!’

Hutter forced his legs to move and focused on the men in front of him, now moving further away as they ran across fields. His own militiamen were among them, as well as men he recognised from the surrounding villages and towns, Wollin and the like. Not that he had the breath to talk to them right now.