by Duncan Lay
Martil wanted to talk privately with Merren. And more than talk. But apparently she had promised Chief Sacrax they would speak with him as soon as possible, while Karia showed no sign of wanting to let him go—and then Havell barged into the chamber.
‘What were you doing?’ the Elfaran shouted at him. ‘Do you have any idea what would happen if you died and we were unable to find another wielder in time?’
Martil was in no mood for the Elfaran. ‘No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me,’ he growled.
Havell’s face reddened. ‘Do you think I am here for your amusement? I have tried to tell you the fate of the world rests on your shoulders…’
‘And you know I don’t want it!’
‘You have no choice! This burden is yours and you must accept the responsibility. Your life is too valuable to waste—too many others depend on it!’
Havell’s words touched the things that Martil had tried and failed to bury.
‘Leave me alone!’ he threatened.
Merren added her support. ‘Sacrax is waiting for us. Perhaps we should speak later.’
Havell stared at them, breathing hard. ‘I have served the dragons for a thousand years, more lifetimes than I care to remember. I did not devote my life to them to fail now! You are needed to restore the world’s magic. It is not a hard task but it is impossible if you are dead! We shall speak again but meanwhile I would urge you to think about what you almost cost this world!’
Martil watched Havell stalk away and was afraid he would think of nothing else.
‘Give me one reason why I should not have you killed for your abject failure,’ Onzalez demanded.
Ezok managed to keep his face impassive only with an enormous effort. His story, blaming Cezar and Khaliz for the failure, had been received coldly by Onzalez—although Markuz had only cared about the death of Cezar. Markuz was sitting near the body now, his face ashen. He had lost all interest in Ezok—but the Fearpriest was not so merciful.
‘I have an excellent reason why I should live,’ Ezok replied strongly. ‘I have a secret—I know all about an object of amazing power, one that makes the Dragon Sword of Norstalos seem nothing more than a child’s toy.’
‘Tell me!’ Onzalez said softly, although Ezok could hear the interest in the Fearpriest’s voice.
‘Only if you swear by Zorva that I shall rule Norstalos in His name, once we have the country in our hands,’ Ezok said boldly.
Onzalez’s hands twitched, as if seeking to crush the life out of Ezok.
‘Why don’t I just put you on the rack and take your secret along with your screams and your life?’ the Fearpriest suggested.
‘Because you will need me to control Gello, to use him as a puppet. And because you told me I was named by Zorva, so to kill me is to thwart His plans.’
Onzalez stared at Ezok for a long moment—at least Ezok supposed the Fearpriest’s hidden eyes were fixed on him—and the former ambassador knew his life hung in the balance. Then the Fearpriest chuckled.
‘You are a brave one, Ezok! Truly you must be blessed by Zorva! So, I swear on His unholy name that you shall not only live, but rule Norstalos after we have taken it—if this object is as powerful as you say.’
Ezok felt the tension go out of his shoulders, and realised he was dripping with sweat. Time to speak—and time to embellish what little he knew.
‘It has been made by the dragons, and can destroy the Dragon Sword. Its magic, its power, dwarfs that toy. Whoever has it controls all the magic in the world,’ Ezok declared.
‘Control all the magic in the world?’ Onzalez snapped. ‘How is that possible?’ But his voice betrayed his excitement and awe at the thought.
‘I do not know. But that is what I was told,’ Ezok lied confidently.
Onzalez nodded slowly and Ezok felt a surge of relief. All those years of learning to mask his feelings were allowing him to lie to a Fearpriest and get away with it!
‘And what is the name of this object?’ Onzalez asked.
‘They call it the Dragon Egg,’ Ezok said.
‘We have agreed to help but there is still a problem,’ Sacrax told them.
Merren smiled carefully. ‘There are no problems that cannot be solved,’ was all she said.
They had eaten at the table of the High Chief—although there was no table as such. Instead, they had sat on stools and passed around crude bowls of nuts, berries, meat and a pungent goat’s cheese that only Sacrax and Karia had eaten with any enthusiasm, while Sacrax had eagerly quizzed Martil on the Ralloran Wars. Now it was well after midnight—there were no hourglasses here, so Martil and Merren had no idea exactly what the hour was—and he was getting down to the real business.
Sacrax had spoken of his concern the Norstalines would turn on the Derthals once all was won, that they would be betrayed yet again. In reply Merren had shown him the deeds to the forest, signed by the Crown, which meant anyone harming or disturbing the Derthals could be arrested, their property forfeit.
Then he had pointed out his concern about being attacked as they marched south, and she promised Father Quiller would go with them, to ease their passage and as a guarantor of their safety, silently hoping that would be enough.
‘All you have to do is help us hold those passes. I shall not ask you to do anything else. We hope no Derthal will have to fight,’ she promised.
But Sacrax still had one more concern.
‘This is autumn. Food is not plentiful. We must leave enough for our females and young to eat, for snow will arrive soon. If all my warriors leave with me…’
Merren smiled with relief. ‘Our wizard will bring in deer, goats, rabbits, whatever is around.’
‘Good.’ Sacrax grinned suddenly. ‘We are happy!’
‘So are we,’ Merren said fervently.
Sacrax stood and stretched. ‘We shall begin tomorrow.’ He patted Martil on the shoulder. ‘It is good to see you. You fight well. My warriors talk of how a dead man came back to life and won! No warrior has ever lost his spear and survived a fight like that!’
Martil forced a smile. He covered himself by turning his grimace into a yawn. Although that was not entirely fake. He was still bone-tired.
‘You need to sleep,’ Sacrax said. ‘Much to get ready but we work better on a full belly, after a good sleep! Too late to walk back to the church now. My guards will show you to a bed for the night.’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ Merren began, imagining the skin-strewn bed that Martil had been given—and the many fleas that no doubt already called it home.
‘No, we are allies now. Sign of trust to sleep in my house!’ Sacrax insisted.
‘Then we shall be happy to,’ she lied, keeping a smile on her face until Sacrax had left.
‘That took longer than the fight!’ Merren sighed. ‘We have allies but I’m not sure they really trust us yet.’
‘Well, I can hardly blame them. But you did well—had an answer for everything,’ Martil said softly. Karia had fallen asleep beside him, her head resting on his leg, some time ago. He stroked her hair gently and looked back at Merren. This was the perfect opportunity to be alone. He could feel his heart beating a little faster. ‘I have been sleeping half the night already—but I am still tired. I vote we find where they have offered us space to sleep.’
Merren rubbed her eyes. ‘But there is still so much to do!’
‘And it will get done faster if you have some rest,’ he suggested. ‘Sacrax was right there.’ He stood carefully, picking up Karia and ignoring the aches in his muscles. He looked up at Merren who, only a little reluctantly, joined him as they walked into the quiet caves. A pair of guards waiting outside the door pointed them down a narrow tunnel.
‘Sleep there,’ one gestured.
Merren tried to question them, but it was obvious they were the only human words these Derthals knew. So they gave up and took a sputtering torch from the dining area to light the way, its pungent smoke mingling with the caves’ aroma of unwashed bodies, damp an
d animals. Then the passage ended in a blank rock wall, with just one opening leading to a small chamber, where a crude platform bed, thickly heaped with animal skins, waited.
‘Did we miss the other chamber?’ Martil wondered quietly.
‘No, there was no other. This is the only one,’ Merren said angrily. ‘Is this Sacrax’s idea of a jest?’
Well, it’s not Barrett’s idea of one, Martil thought to himself. ‘It will be fine. We have Karia with us. She can sleep in the middle—that platform is big enough for three of us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous—I shall walk back to the church,’ Merren declared.
‘Merren, that’s a foolish idea. You are tired and the church is far away. We can sleep here and nothing will happen,’ Martil whispered, signalling for her to be quiet, to not wake Karia.
For a moment Merren thought about walking away, but she was too tired. The stress of the day had left her feeling wrung out. Besides, if Karia was there between them, what could they get up to? Still, that did not stop her imagination from working, a little.
The platform bed was more than big enough for the three of them—she guessed several Derthals could fit in, and she could not help but wonder about Sacrax’s sleeping arrangements.
Martil carefully lay Karia down in the middle of the bed, and tucked a couple of animal skins over her.
‘Are you sure they’re clean?’ Merren kicked off her boots but kept the tunic and trousers on. She had changed out of the clothes that had been covered in Martil’s blood after the fight so they were relatively clean—and there was no sense in giving in to temptation…
They found themselves talking in whispers, so as not to wake Karia.
‘Clean enough.’ Martil shrugged. ‘You can always take a bath tomorrow.’ He had felt tired but having Merren alone had woken him up in more ways than one.
Merren laughed as she stretched out on the bed. ‘I doubt there will be time for that! Still, a queen always has to look her best or people talk about her. And she must put up with any discomfort without complaint. It feels like I’ve been on my feet all day!’
‘Let me see.’ Martil sat down at the end of the bed and grabbed her foot.
‘And what do you think you are doing?’ Merren sat up.
‘Making sure my Queen is fit for duty tomorrow,’ Martil said innocently, carefully massaging the ball of her foot. ‘Wouldn’t that feel better?’
Merren had to admit it felt wonderfully soothing, although she was concerned it might lead to other things.
‘You shouldn’t do that—my feet must stink,’ she protested weakly.
Martil knew she had a point. They were not only dirty but sweaty and smelly. Still, he was not about to let go.
‘I can’t tell,’ he lied with a smile, making sure he kept a firm grip on her ankle as he rubbed her foot.
It was relaxing, and Merren lay back on the animal skins, which were surprisingly comfortable.
He switched his attention to her toes and she could not stop a small gasp of pleasure escaping.
‘You know, I could do this more often,’ Martil offered, moving her feet subtly out of his lap and onto his thigh.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ she muttered. ‘Although I don’t think it would be a good idea.’
‘Why?’
She just looked at him.
‘Karia’s sleeping just there! I’m not trying to begin anything,’ he protested, without conviction.
‘Still, you can stop at the ankle,’ she told him. ‘And I thought you were tired from the duel?’
‘Not that tired,’ Martil said softly. The sight of her lying there on the bed and the feel of her skin under his hands eventually grew too much. He had to say something.
‘Merren, after the fight, when you ran to me…’
‘Yes?’ she said guardedly, unsure of what she might have to say to him.
‘I know you love me. It was written all over your face. You know I love you and we are to have a child together. You can’t marry Sendric when we return,’ he said in a rush.
‘Oh, I can’t?’ She sat up, her eyes blazing. ‘Do you think you can give me orders?’
‘Of course not!’ he protested, pointing at the sleeping Karia and lowering his voice. ‘That wasn’t what I meant! It’s just that we should be together…’
‘Well, I’m glad we are agreed that it is entirely my decision,’ she snapped, hoping he would drop this but knowing he would not. Dear Aroaril, what was she going to say to him?
Martil stared into her eyes. ‘It is your choice but it is the right thing to do. We were meant to be together!’
She smiled bitterly. ‘I never thought to hear that from you, of all people. The man who hates sagas and their traditional happy endings.’
He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Let me start again. I just meant you don’t need to marry Sendric. I know why you think you must but the people will accept me. And you cannot deny what there is between us. I love you and I know you feel the same way. That duel proved it to us. Why does being Queen prevent you from being happy?’
She had to look away. With him so close, with his hands on her, it was too easy to give in. But being queen was not about taking the easy option and she had never been willing to give in. So why was telling him so hard? She knew all the arguments—she had used them to convince herself earlier that night. But it was very different now, with the two of them together like this.
‘It is not that easy,’ she managed to say.
‘Well, it should be!’ he stormed, then checked himself as Karia stirred and rolled over. They both watched her, almost holding their breath, until Karia snuggled herself back into sleep.
They locked eyes again and she glared at him.
‘You don’t understand what the country is going through! I am asking them to accept me, when many of them never did, agree to the changes I plan—and now welcome an army of Derthals living among them, when they were all raised on tales of those evil goblins in the north. A base-born Ralloran Prince Consort and half-Ralloran Prince is too much…’
‘At least wait a little! Give the people a chance to see that I am no threat to the throne. Give your new ideas a chance to take hold!’ he begged in quiet desperation.
Merren’s instincts told her this was a bad idea. The Crown Prince needed to be born without suspicion. Waiting could create all sorts of problems. The part of her that was enjoying the sensation of Martil’s hands on her skin, the part that had almost died during his fight with Cezar, wanted to agree with him. But she could not let her heart rule her head.
‘I don’t want to give you a false hope. I thought we had agreed this was impossible, and you had sworn not to bring it up again?’
‘But you admitted you loved me!’
‘I did no such thing,’ she protested in a hoarse whisper.
‘After the fight! I saw the look on your face—when you caught me before I fell. Look me in the eye and tell me you felt nothing,’ he challenged, still trying to talk in a whisper.
Merren tried to stare him down, but could not.
‘But that changes nothing! I cannot put myself before the people.’ Merren was almost in tears.
‘Then just wait a little—see if the people change. Perhaps you don’t have to make a choice between me and the people,’ Martil appealed.
Merren surged to her feet. ‘If it comes down to a choice, you cannot win. All we are doing is delaying hurting ourselves now, only to hurt even more in the future.’
Martil jumped to his feet as well. ‘How do you know the people won’t accept me? I’ve fought for them, my men have died for them—I’ve just bled for them and it nearly cost me my life. Why can’t they see that?’
‘Because it’s not that simple!’ she snarled.
Martil was about to shout at her when a noise from the bed made them both turn—to see Karia stretch and then subside once more.
‘Well it should be—don’t your people want you to be happy?’ he mouthed angrily.
‘It is not about you! It is not about me, either—Norstalos is bigger than both of us.’
‘Then what are we fighting for?’ Martil asked.
She had to take a breath then, to keep control. ‘Do you really think it is that easy, that I can just ignore what the people want and do whatever pleases myself? For down that path lies Gello,’ she said indignantly, struggling to keep her voice down.
‘That’s not what I meant! I’m trying to say the people will change. I’m saying we can still hope,’ Martil argued. He wanted to rage and shout but kept himself quiet. It seemed ridiculous to be having an argument in whispers.
‘I can’t allow myself the luxury of hope,’ Merren said softly, hollowly. For a long moment they stared at each other, Martil trying to convey through his eyes what he had not been able to put into words. Merren wanted to tell him there was no hope but could not bring herself to do it. Not just for what it would do to him, but what it would do to her. ‘After what we have been through, I will delay the wedding—for a while,’ she relented.
Martil had imagined far more than this but, after her earlier words, it was enough to make him grin. He stepped in close and hugged Merren tight. She was slow to react and could not step away as her head was telling her to do. But as she felt his arms around her, sense fled and she relaxed, holding him close. He leaned down to kiss her and although she knew this was a bad idea, which could only lead to other things, her hand went to the back of his head…only to hear a light cough.
They both turned their heads at the same time, to see Karia yawning and rubbing her eyes.
