The Wounded Guardian (7 page)

Martil ignored that. ‘I came here because this country is supposed to be peaceful! What do you think will happen?’

Nott shrugged his shoulders. ‘I am not skilled in divination. But I do know there is a rising tide of fear and anger in this country, as well as resentment at a woman on the throne. And waiting in the wings is Duke Gello, who would have been King if the Dragon Sword had accepted him. He is known to be ambitious and ruthless. It is not hard to imagine what might happen if the Queen does not win the support of the people. However, we are talking about Thest. You must swear to me that you will both go there. For the sake of you both. Think of it as a second chance, an atonement.’

Martil snorted. ‘Atonement? Did you hear about Bellic? I was one of the war captains that gave the final order to destroy the town.’

Nott sighed. ‘Aroaril has shown me your past. Of course, I knew about Bellic already, which is why I know the guilt is not yours alone. That is why they talk of the Butchers of Bellic. There were five of you.’

Martil felt his throat choke up but refused to let it stop him. There were things that needed to be said. ‘It has to be my guilt. I could have stopped them. We were deadlocked, two for sacking the town, two for starving them out. It was my vote that decided it. I let my anger get the better of me. And now I must live with what I did. A second chance? To give me a little girl to look after? How can that be weighed against the hundreds of dead children we left in Bellic? Someone above must be laughing at this.’

Nott stood with surprising swiftness and grabbed hold of Martil’s arm. ‘This is the last time I tell you.
Do not mock what you cannot understand,’ he warned. His eyes, so blue and so knowing, bored into Martil’s. ‘Karia is not an ordinary girl. The intervention of Aroaril…When I say she is special, I do not mean she can perform counting tricks or amuse others. There is a power within her. Not the power that I get from Aroaril but magic, real magic that can form the world around her. That was why Edil wanted her back. He thought she could be turned into a magician that could bring him the riches he had always desired. So do not tell me she does not have a purpose. And so do you. A man haunted by the death of children has the opportunity to care for one. I see nothing funny in that. And I see Karia as my granddaughter. Would I let her go with someone who would hurt her? You are a better man than you think. One day you might even make a good man. So tell me, do you regret what happened at Bellic?’

Martil, trapped both by Nott’s gaze and his surprisingly strong grip, could not escape. Everything that he kept bottled up, that had exploded out of him when he killed Edil, overwhelmed him.

‘Of course,’ he said thickly. ‘I regret it with every breath.’

‘Do you? Do you really? Or do you just regret that it has meant you are no longer a hero?’

Martil glared up at him. ‘I never cared about being a hero! But I care about not being able to sleep for nightmares about Bellic! I care that my decision saw hundreds of women and children die, destroyed the lives of the men who followed my orders! I care that I must carry the guilt for the rest of my worthless life!’

Nott stared into his eyes, then nodded grimly. ‘If that is true, you must travel to Thest. Swear it, if you truly wish to repent. Swear!’

‘But I already have! I swore to Aroaril!’ Martil protested. ‘Back when I…I swore to her half-brother!’

‘Again! Swear to me!’

Martil could not look away. ‘I swear by Aroaril to take Karia to Thest,’ he gasped.

As he said the words, Nott’s hand on his arm grew suddenly warm for an instant. The priest stared into his eyes for a moment longer, before smiling.

‘Now you must hold to that oath. The path to your only chance of happiness leads there. Understand?’

He released Martil’s arm but did not move away. Martil managed to swallow again.

‘I’m not deaf, or stupid. You want me to go to Thest. Just tell me why!’

Nott snorted. ‘You would not believe me if I told you. But I can tell you that breaking that oath will lead to so much misery that Bellic will seem like a fond memory.’

Martil, thoroughly shaken by now, and overcome with guilt, simply nodded.

Nott passed a hand over his face and scrubbed at it wearily before looking back at Martil. ‘You should leave early. This parting will be hard on Karia. Get some sleep. Are you hungry?’

Caught off balance by Nott’s change of subject, Martil admitted he was, and Nott led the way into the kitchen, where he produced a plate of ham, and took off a pot lid to reveal turnips and swedes gently bubbling on the wood-fired stove.

‘Wash your plate once you have eaten. And you may sleep out here. I am going to bed,’ Nott announced. He seemed exhausted.

‘Is going to Thest really the only way for me?’ Martil tried one last time.

Nott sniffed. ‘Only if you want to rid yourself of your nightmares. Sleep well.’

Martil doubted that was going to happen, but said nothing. He deliberately did not think, just ate mechanically; the food was hardly tasty but to a man who had managed to stomach army rations for half his life, it was fine. He washed his plate in the deep sink, pumping the water in until it was clean, then looked out of the window to see Tomon in the paddock outside. It was like waking up. Part of him was saying he should just walk out now, saddle the horse and ride. He could leave gold on the table and let the priest fix the problem of Karia.
But what then
, the greater part of him said. Back to the drinking and the dreams? Hadn’t he sworn to change, then sworn an oath—twice!—that he would take Karia to Thest? What lay ahead in Thest? And what waited for him if he did not go? How had that priest managed to affect him so? He felt torn. Then, making a decision, he turned away from the window and the lure of a fast escape on Tomon. Yes, he wanted to run. Spending more time with Karia was not something he wanted to do. But he was desperate. After Bellic, after leaving Rallora, after the slaughter of Edil…things had to change. He found he liked the idea there was a path to happiness ahead. He would go to Thest and trust the old priest. He grabbed a cushion from a chair, a blanket from his bag and lay on the floor to sleep, hoping not to dream about Bellic.

The inn was almost shaking, the singing was so loud. Soldiers’ songs, all about marching, loved ones back home, and the girls who liked a man in uniform. Every night it was the same. Drink too much, sing, and then get into a fight. And it was all the man once known as War Captain Snithe had to look forward to these days. Once this had been his home village but then the war had come and what was a man to do but fight? Now it was the same village he remembered, but he was a different man to the one who had marched to war. Many of the villagers avoided him when they could. At first, almost all of them had respected him, even if he was tainted with the blood of Bellic. But now many were privately suggesting the militia be called in to keep him quiet and some were even calling for him to be kicked out.

He had consumed at least ten pints of ale and it was with great difficulty that he negotiated the narrow passage that led to the ramshackle wooden building over a deep cesspit. Once inside, he untied his trews with exaggerated care—then caught sight of a dark figure joining him.

‘Need a piss, too?’ he asked in a friendly way, but the figure just stepped in close and plunged a knife into his chest.

‘King Markuz hopes you rot for an eternity, Captain Snithe,’ Cezar hissed as Snithe choked and died. Swiftly he cut the man’s heart out as a trophy for Markuz, then dropped him into the cesspit. He knew there would be no shortage of suspects. It would take the local militia days to sort it out. Long enough for him to finish the job.

It seemed as if Martil had just closed his eyes when he felt someone shaking him. He had been having a dream about that last war council before Bellic. But in this one, the other captains were all covered in blood. Behind them sat the dead children of Bellic. His eyes snapped open to see Karia’s face a few inches from his own.

‘What!’ Martil gasped. He had not slept through someone approaching him for many years and the combination of that and his dream left his heart pounding.

‘Father Nott is still tired but he said you would get me some breakfast,’ she announced. She looked far better this morning, although no doubt the bath had a great deal to do with that. Her hair was even mostly brushed.

Martil looked out of the window to see it was just dawn. He rubbed his eyes and swallowed, his mouth feeling as though something foul had slept in it. He needed a drink of water, and then he needed something hot inside him.

‘What do you want to eat?’

‘What is there?’

Martil went to investigate and found Father
Nott’s pantry rather bare. He suspected he and Karia had eaten most of the food last night. The milk smelt off and the remaining bread was hard. He sawed thick hunks off the loaf, which he held close to the coals of the stove fire. Karia demanded a turn, and then polished off four slices of toasted bread, two with honey on, two with cheese on.

‘Thirsty now.’

So Martil had to leave his own toasted bread and hunt around until he found a stone jug half-full of apple juice. He poured out two goblets and was just sitting down again when she finished hers.

‘Can I make some for Father Nott now?’

With a sigh, Martil helped her prepare toast and juice for Father Nott. He was wondering if he would ever get a chance to eat himself. So he was heartily thankful when Father Nott’s door opened and the old priest stepped out, wrapping a woollen robe around himself. Karia also seemed thankful, as she ran over to hug him. Once he had made it to the kitchen table, Father Nott allowed Karia to scramble onto his lap.

‘What are we doing today?’ she asked.

Father Nott put down his slice of toast. ‘We are doing nothing. I have some people coming to visit me, and I have to pack. You will be leaving with Martil here.’

‘I’m taking you to your uncle Danir,’ Martil added hastily.

It took a moment for this to all sink in, then her face twisted in horror and she stared up at Father Nott. ‘You mean I can’t stay here?’

‘No, my dear. I can’t stay here, either. I am leaving to go back to my Chapter House, and another priest is coming to live here.’

‘But I want to stay with you! Why can’t I stay with you?’ she screamed and then burst into tears.

Nott tried, and failed, to soothe her.

‘I’m not going. You can’t make me!’

Martil felt he had had enough. ‘You can’t speak to the Father like that!’ he snapped.

‘Who asked you? You can’t make me do anything!’ she shrieked at him.

‘Martil! Please!’ Father Nott tried to step in but as far as Martil was concerned, this was a battle of wills that had to be won if he was to take her to her uncle’s home.

‘You will do what I say,’ he told her.

‘Why? You’re not my father! You killed my father!’ She grabbed an empty goblet and hurled it at Martil, who had to duck to avoid it.

‘Karia!’ Father Nott admonished but Martil’s anger burst into flame and he surged to his feet.

‘Why you…!’

‘No!’ Karia saw the look in his eyes and rolled into a ball, arms over her head for protection, screaming and crying.

Martil’s anger disappeared in an instant and he stood there, feeling sick to the stomach, guilt and shame thick in his throat.

Father Nott patted Karia gently and looked up at Martil. ‘I understand you do not know much about children. But neither did I, and I learned. She needs a little time to get used to this situation. Try and see it from her point of view. She thought she would be coming back to live in the only loving home she has known.’

‘Well, can you see why I should not be looking after her?’ Martil argued.

Father Nott smiled. ‘But you are only taking her
to her uncle. Surely you can survive a few days with her, until you reach the village of Thest.’

Martil stopped. That oath seemed like an intolerable burden right now.

‘I need some fresh air,’ he declared. ‘And I need to saddle my horse.’

‘First you must apologise to her,’ Father Nott warned. ‘She thinks you were going to hit her, and that is not a good thing. She must learn to trust you and that violence does not solve anything.’

Martil could not help but laugh. ‘I’ve found it remarkably useful at times.’ He paused and looked at the sniffling Karia, whose great whooping sobs seemed to shake her whole body. ‘I’ll talk to her when I come back.’

He went into the privy, and then the washroom, using the cold water from the pump to cool his anger. Nott was being too clever by half. His path to happiness was through that child? A child!
More like a mobile screaming device
, he thought sourly. He had endured enough this morning to convince him that the last thing he wanted was to spend more time with her. Well, he would show that priest. He would take her to Danir and make sure she was comfortable, then ride away without a backward glance.

He went out to where his bags sat and dug out some soap and a razor, before going back to the washroom. Father Nott had a small mirror, made of bronze, which stood above a large stone basin. Martil started to shave, scraping away the thick bristles covering his chin and cheeks. The face in the mirror looked back at him. The hair was just starting to recede, the nose a little too long, the brows too strong and the ears a little too big for him to ever be
called handsome. His face was almost unscarred, except for a tiny nick on his cheek, which had been caused not by any Berellians but by Borin, when they had been children. The eyes were grey, but he found he could never look into his own eyes for long. Not any more. He finished shaving and then debated whether to feed Tomon or go back inside. He decided to leave the feeding for later; Karia might enjoy it. That strategy made him feel a little more confident when he walked back inside to see Karia finishing off Father Nott’s toast.

‘Karia, would you like to come and feed my horse?’ he offered.

She nodded, but made no move to get up.

‘You need to answer him, my dear,’ Father Nott said gently.

‘Y—yes please.’

‘Good. Come on then,’ Martil invited.

She glanced up at Father Nott, who nodded and smiled, so she slipped down to the floor and walked across to Martil, her eyes downcast. Martil looked at Father Nott, who was mouthing something at him. He guessed it was a request for an apology, so he got down on one knee, at her level.

‘Karia, I will never hit you. Never. I don’t hurt women or children.’
Any more
, his treacherous mind added. ‘Do you understand?’

She looked up and nodded, although Martil could tell she was not convinced. Still, it was a start.

He congratulated himself on a brilliant idea, because she was delighted to see Tomon again, and doubly delighted to feed him. Martil showed her how to hold a handful of grain in her palm, so the horse could nibble it without touching her fingers, then gave her a small apple that Tomon could take
and crunch up. Then he picked her up so she could slip the nosebag over Tomon’s head, and she helped Martil brush the horse while he munched. By the time they had finished, Father Nott had come out of the house to watch them.

‘You should probably leave now,’ he told Martil quietly. ‘Get your things—I’m sorry to say there is almost nothing of hers to take—while I watch her. The Bishop will be arriving soon and the presence of a small child, to say nothing of a Ralloran warrior, will be hard to explain. More importantly, she is in a good mood now. Best to take advantage of it.’

So Martil slipped away and then had Karia help him saddle Tomon, showing her how he put on the saddlebags. The next stop would be the town of Wollin, a full day’s ride away. He could have stopped at another village but he wanted somewhere where he could buy things for Karia. After all, bribes were a useful tactic of war. Father Nott gave Karia a long hug and a kiss, and then whispered a blessing to her. He nodded to Martil.

‘Time to go then, Karia,’ he said cheerily.

But she was ready for him, latching onto Father Nott’s leg and screaming.

‘You can’t stay here,’ Martil told her. ‘You have to go to your uncle.’ He was struck by a sudden thought. ‘And your uncle would be upset if you didn’t go to live with him. It’s what your father wanted. And I’ll let you pat Tomon again.’

She nodded slowly, and let go of Father Nott’s leg. Martil held out his hand and she screamed and grabbed hold of Father Nott’s arm instead.

‘Fine!’ Martil had had enough. ‘Father, good luck. Enjoy your retirement. I shall send word to you
when Karia is with her uncle.’ Then he simply picked Karia up. She was not expecting that, and made a despairing grab for Father Nott. She missed, and Martil threw her over his shoulder.

‘Hold to your oath! Your future depends on it!’ Father Nott called.

Martil could barely hear him over the screaming. She was also trying to hit him, and was having some success. Getting onto Tomon was a challenge but the horse stood patiently and allowed him to swing up and then place her in front of him, where she could touch Tomon but not escape.

Martil did not bother to say anything else to Father Nott. It would have been pointless. Besides, the old priest was waving at Karia and looked as though he was crying. So Martil steered Tomon out of the village, and around it, rather than going down the main street, as Karia’s screams had attracted attention from the few homes nearby.

Father Nott watched them go and wondered if he had done enough—or too much. It was up to them now. He wished he had been able to go with them but that was not his destiny. That was a bitter thing to realise. Then there were the things he had seen but had not spoken of to Martil. A vision of how those two would not just save each other, but a third as well, so the three could save this country and eventually the world. How, or what from, he had no idea. But it was the only comfort he had. He just had to have faith.

‘You can’t keep screaming, you’ll make yourself sick,’ Martil told Karia, as he tried to put some distance between the screams and the village.

This had no effect, so he decided to resort to bribery. ‘I have some almond-honey sweets. But you can only have some if you stop yelling,’ he offered, although it
was hard to get the necessary persuasiveness into his voice when he had to shout.

However, this seemed to work, for soon the screams became sobs, the sobs became sniffles, and she was able to demand: ‘Where’re my sweets?’

He dug out a handful and watched them disappear with amazing swiftness. It seemed that all the yelling had given her an appetite.

‘When can I go back to Father Nott?’ she demanded.

‘We’ve been through this. You can’t go back. You have to go and live with your uncle in Thest,’ Martil said patiently.

‘I hate you.’

He sighed. ‘This should be a fun journey.’

‘Well, I’m not having fun,’ she told him.

Norstalos was a peaceful country. It had been for centuries. And before that, the Royal Palace in Norstalos City had stood as a bastion of peace. Even in the darkest years of old King Riel’s reign, before he had gained the Dragon Sword, it had not been threatened. No unrest. No protests. No mobs demanding justice. Even the Poor Quarter was reasonably quiet—and not all that poor. So you could hardly blame the guards on the palace gate for feeling relaxed. Although they were veteran soldiers, they had been performing their duties for years without incident. What was the point of guarding something that had no threat?

Chelten knew all this as he led his six men across the plaza towards the palace. They made no attempt to hide, although there were no hiding places. Instead they marched casually up to the front gate. As hand-picked members of Duke Gello’s bodyguard, they
had had ample legitimate opportunities to scout the palace and plan the night’s work. They still could have completed their mission had the guards been on high alert. But against a group of dozy men, lulled into boredom after guarding a palace in the softest, most secure city in the world—it would be too easy. Chelten almost smiled thinking about it as he approached the guards. His reward for the night would be the satisfaction of turning the Duke he had served all his adult life into the King. And then serving a king would bring material rewards—gold, land and women—from a grateful Gello.