The Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  ‘Are you coming to bed?’ she murmured, her eyes barely open.

  Martil hesitated, unwilling to break the moment, but Merren slipped away from him and went around to the far side of the bed. For a moment only, she locked eyes with him.

  ‘That is the end of the discussion,’ she said gently, then lay on her side, her back to him.

  With no other choice, he lay down on the bed also. It was not that big, but it still felt as though there was an enormous space between them.

  2

  Kettering waved Hawke and Leigh down the neat, cobbled street. Cessor was a rich trading port and the houses in this district belonged to merchants, shopkeepers and traders who all made their living on or from the sea. All were two or three storeys high, and the top storeys would have magnificent views across the water. Sadly, they would also have wonderful views of the Tenoch invasion that was set to sweep through this town. Kettering and his men were trying to persuade as many people as possible to move out. Some had gone but many remained.

  ‘Knock on the door,’ Kettering ordered.

  Leigh, limping slightly from the wound he had taken at Pilleth, used the hilt of his sword to bang on the solid wooden door of the first house.

  ‘Careful,’ Hawke growled. ‘You’ll dent it!’

  Leigh looked at him. ‘Since when have you cared about damaging things?’

  ‘That’s a good door, that is. Western cedar—that door’s worth more than you and I!’

  ‘What are you going on about? I never knew you was an expert on doors!’

  ‘I used to sleep in a doorway like that when I was a kid, on the streets,’ Hawke said slowly. ‘I swore to myself one day I’d sleep on the other side of it. A door like that says you’ve made it. Says you’re a man of substance.’

  ‘Man of substance? Sounds like you’ve been on some substance,’ Leigh sniffed. ‘Anyway, seeing as how the Tenochs are going to burn it all down, do you really think it’s going to matter if it has a small dent in it?’

  ‘Enough,’ Kettering stepped in. ‘Use the bloody door knocker! Don’t you know how to deal with people?’

  Leigh sighed, sheathed his sword and used the brass knocker to rap three times on the door. ‘Not all of us were under-managers of big inns, you know,’ he grumbled, but quietly enough that Kettering could pretend he hadn’t heard it. ‘Besides, I thought the idea was, if we looked like criminals, we’d help scare the good people away?’

  The door jerked open and Leigh hastily raised his hands as a loaded crossbow was pointed at his face.

  ‘You may not be an inn manager, but you obviously look like a criminal.’ Hawke grinned, then wiped the smile from his face and threw his hands into the air as the crossbow moved in his direction.

  ‘We are soldiers of the Queen, here with an important message,’ Kettering said, stepping close to the arbalester, a middle-aged, portly man with an enormous moustache.

  ‘Soldiers? A likely story! You’re all thieves and murderers, more likely. Look what you’ve done to my door!’

  ‘Told you,’ Hawke murmured.

  Kettering ignored him. ‘Sir, a fleet of ships, bringing thousands of warriors sworn to Zorva’s service, is heading towards this town. Now, I am here for two reasons—to tell everyone to move out, and to compile a list of provisions you have with you.’

  ‘Provisions? And what business of that is yours?’ the man said suspiciously.

  ‘Sir, we are evacuating thousands of people. Some will be without food by the time they get far enough north. We need to make sure the food is shared out equally,’ Kettering said as calmly as he could. He had always hated dealing with members of the public like this when he was under-manager at the Crown and Sparrow in Wollin. Just because they had some money, they thought they could get away with anything.

  ‘We shall also need any carriages and especially horses you have in your stables, to help others move faster,’ Hawke added.

  The man snorted. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday? Do you know how much a good horse and carriage costs? And sharing the food equally! I’ve never heard theft described like that! Tell me, is your Queen going to buy this food from me? Will my horses be given the best corn? Will any damage to my carriage be repaired—and will a proper hire fee be paid?’

  Kettering took a deep breath. Once he would have bowed and scraped and apologised abjectly for offending a man like this. But that had been a different Kettering. Now he could feel his anger rising. With reluctance he quelled it and tried again. ‘She is your Queen also,’ he said harshly. ‘I would have thought that, as a loyal Norstaline, you would want to help your fellow Norstalines in their time of need? And does not Aroaril say that charity is good for the soul? Besides, everyone has to tighten their belt at a time of national crisis.’

  The man’s face reddened, as he glanced down at the wide leather belt fighting to keep his large stomach from bursting out of his straining trews. ‘You come here and order me out of my home, tell me you are going to steal my horses, my carriage, all my food, my wine, the delicacies I have purchased at great expense to see me through the winter, without so much as a copper coin in recompense, then you have the nerve to say that it will be good for my soul! You are scum, plucked from the gutter, who know no better. King Gello is coming back to put you and yours in your place! He will have no quarrel with the likes of us, so I have no intention of leaving and I would rather burn in Zorva’s pit than have you and your kind rob me of everything I spent twenty years earning!’

  ‘That can be arranged,’ Kettering spat, anger racing through him now. ‘You will pack for leaving, and you will give me a full list of all the food you are hoarding or by Aroaril I will…’

  ‘Er, Killer, you might want to look around,’ Leigh said nervously.

  Kettering whirled around angrily to see a crowd had gathered, attracted by all the shouting. Even now, other doors in the street were opening, and a variety of richly dressed men and women, almost all of them middle-aged, were either stepping onto the street or leaning out of ornate windows. Many held clubs, or knives; two others had crossbows.

  ‘We don’t want your kind around here!’ one across the street shouted. ‘Leave Fergus alone!’

  ‘Aye, leave now or I’ll send you to the pits where you belong!’ Fergus, the moustached man, stepped out past his door and prodded Kettering in the back with his crossbow.

  That was too much. Kettering sidestepped and, in the same action, grabbed the front of the crossbow and pointed it away. Fergus’s finger instinctively tightened on the trigger bar and the heavy bolt thumped into the man’s door, sticking in the fine timber.

  ‘I told them to watch the door,’ Hawke muttered.

  Kettering let go of the now-useless crossbow and turned to the gathering crowd. ‘Listen to me. You have to leave now—your lives are at risk!’ he roared.

  ‘So you say. But King Gello will not harm us!’ a woman cried, and many others nodded or let out a shout of agreement. ‘Your Queen is destroying the country! She has ended the nobility, she is giving common people the right to tell us what to do.’

  ‘Aye! That’s right!’ her supporters chorused.

  Kettering watched her, amazed, as she whipped the crowd into a frenzy.

  ‘How can peasants have the right to tell us what to do? Would I let my kitchen staff and maid give me orders? It is madness. As if their voice is as important as mine! Me, a personal friend of the Countess Cessor! This action will destroy the country. And now you tell us she plans to seize all of our property and give it to scum who are jealous of everything we have worked hard for?’

  Kettering stared at the woman. If she had done any work harder than ordering her servants about, he would eat Fergus’s crossbow. But he could not get a word in against her tirade.

  ‘Suppose we leave, and return to find ten families with stinking brats living in our houses, messing up our rooms and wrecking our treasures? After our horses, our wine cellars, our carriages and our stores have been stolen and ha
nded out to anyone who walks by? This is your Queen’s next step in her mad plan to ruin this country. And we will be damned before we let it happen here!’

  ‘Herena! Herena!’ her supporters applauded.

  Kettering tried to push through the crowd towards her, but they locked arms in front of him.

  ‘Get out of here, and don’t come back!’ Herena roared at them.

  ‘Come on, lads,’ Kettering grunted. As far as he was concerned, they deserved anything the Tenochs gave them.

  King Gello waited impatiently. Co-ordinating three attacks, from three different forces, across hundreds of miles, was an enormous undertaking. The delay chafed at him. All he thought about was revenge. Since Pilleth and then the realisation he was a puppet of the Fearpriest, his thoughts had turned inwards. He was having long conversations with Mother about how he would both defeat Merren and outwit his erstwhile allies. He had thought, since his conversion, he would not need her so much—but he had found himself talking to her more and more. She would not answer him but he thought he was making progress. He was sure she was smiling at him now. He was telling her how both the Dragon Sword and Pilleth would be consigned to history, forgotten in a blaze of glory as he forged a new reputation for himself, when Prent and Feld rushed over to him.

  They waited while he carefully kissed the portrait of the Duchess Ivene that he now carried everywhere, and placed it where it could listen to the report.

  ‘Sire, there are problems. Bad weather has meant the Tenochs are delayed—they cannot leave for another three days, then there will be the sailing time of four or five days.’

  Gello spat in disgust. ‘I thought you Fearpriests could promise fine weather?’

  Prent shuffled his feet. ‘It seems the Norstaline wizard acted first. It will take days for the storm to blow out.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Ezok failed to persuade the goblins to attack the north. Martil killed Cezar; Ezok and Khaliz only just escaped with their lives. They believe a goblin army will march to help the Norstalines.’

  At this, Gello threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘Sire?’ Feld said nervously.

  ‘Perfect! Now the people will fear the goblins as well as the Berellians! Not only will they rally to me when I return, but our gallant allies can suffer to defeat the goblins! Now leave me. I must discuss these developments with Mother.’

  They carefully bowed to both Gello and the portrait, before backing out of the tent.

  If Conal had had two hands, he would have used one to pull his hair out. Reports were flooding in from around the country on the progress of the evacuation, and while some gave him heart, others made him despair.

  ‘You cannot bear the responsibility for everyone,’ Louise tried to tell him.

  Conal sighed. ‘I wish I could make myself believe you. I wish I was back being a simple bandit or, even better, a simple militia sergeant. But I cannot. These reports tell me that villages and towns are emptying, faster each day as the food shortages start to bite. But hundreds remain.’

  ‘That is their choice,’ Louise told him.

  ‘And even those who are leaving are making little progress! Some of the roads are almost jammed with people, all moving at the pace of the slowest farm wagon. And the pace seems to slow further, as livestock and people tire. Thank Aroaril our weather has held. If we get a few days of solid rain, many of those roads will turn into mud and it will be near-impossible to get the people away. Even if it stays fine, I don’t know if we can get all of them into the north in time!’

  Louise put her arm around him.

  ‘You need to rest, you’ve been working too hard,’ she told him.

  ‘Well, you know what it’s like. If only I had an extra hand,’ he told her, with a tired smile, a smile that slowly dissolved. ‘There is so much to do and time is running out. We have lookouts on every cliff along the western coast—we should get a day’s warning of when the Tenochs are about to invade, and that will tell us when to expect Gello and the Berellians to sweep in as well.’

  Louise looked down at the long lists of parchment.

  ‘Then Gia and I shall help you,’ she stated firmly. ‘After all, we are members of the Royal Council and attendants to the Queen. You go to bed and we shall keep working.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ Conal protested weakly. ‘I have to write out these orders and send them out with these birds that Barrett has left us so Nerrin, Rocus and the rest know what to do tomorrow!’

  ‘You will go to bed if I have to drag you there myself!’ Louise told him.

  Conal could not help but smile then. ‘Well, if you put it like that…’

  Louise smiled back, despite herself. ‘I don’t. But get yourself some sleep and let us finish these off.’

  For a long moment he looked at her.

  ‘Wime was a lucky man,’ he said softly.

  ‘I know.’ Her smile was brittle. ‘Now leave me to work.’

  Martil woke to find Karia’s arm over his chest and her head on his shoulder. He hugged her close for a moment, until he had control of himself. He had been dreaming about the fight with Cezar, only this time a sobbing Karia was watching—and he was unable to get up and stop the Berellian. Even now he could feel his heart pounding. He rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand.

  ‘Don’t get up. This is too comfortable,’ Karia declared, reaching out so she had an arm around both Merren and Martil. ‘Isn’t this nice, us all together like this?’

  Martil looked over and saw Merren staring at him.

  ‘We should do this more often,’ Karia announced. This was exactly what she wanted! A family, all together. All she had to do was make sure the two of them saw it as well.

  ‘Perhaps we should,’ Martil agreed, gazing at Merren.

  ‘Better make the most of it, because I don’t know when it will happen again,’ Merren replied.

  ‘But it’s so much fun!’ Martil smiled at Karia.

  ‘Sadly, fun isn’t always the best reason to do something. Sometimes you have to do things that are not fun.’ Merren’s eyes bored in at him.

  ‘That’s silly!’ Karia hugged them both. ‘Why don’t we all get some breakfast?’

  It seemed to be the perfect way out of there without an argument, although getting a word in against the steady chatter of Karia was impossible for both of them. And finding breakfast was not much easier. They found the Derthal camp a hive of activity. Hundreds of Derthal warriors were lashing new spearheads to shafts, or strapping spears to their backs, while females packed food and Sacrax strode around, bellowing orders.

  ‘They seem to be doing well without us. Perhaps we should go up to Father Alban’s church,’ Martil suggested.

  ‘And get some food,’ Karia added.

  She slipped her hands into theirs, so they were holding one hand each as they walked. Everything was going well, she decided.

  ‘Swing me! Please?’ she pleaded.

  Martil looked at Merren and saw her mouth twitch almost into a smile, then he winked at her over Karia’s head. So they found themselves swinging her through the air, her laughter ringing in their ears as they walked out of the Derthal valley. As they came into sight of the church, with Argurium lying down outside it, they saw Barrett.

  ‘Barrett! Watch me!’ Karia shouted, and swung high, holding tight to Martil’s and Merren’s hands. Martil glanced at Barrett, and saw the wizard’s jaw tighten as he watched the three of them, holding hands and laughing—and then the wizard disappeared back into the church.

  ‘Wonderful.’ Merren had also seen Barrett’s reaction.

  She hurried after him, while Karia hurried in hope of breakfast and Martil tried to stay with them. But he was blocked at the door by Havell.

  ‘Martil, a quick word if you please?’ the Elfaran asked stiffly. ‘Queen Merren, Karia, this will only take a moment.’

  Merren caught the look Havell gave her, so took Karia’s hand and ushered her inside. Martil was tempted to follow anyway, the
n the dragon pounced on him.

  ‘Dragon Sword Wielder, I must ask you never to risk yourself like that again,’ Argurium rumbled. ‘To accept a duel is bad enough but then to trick us, deliberately prevent us from protecting you…’

  ‘You can save it. I’ve heard it from your pointyeared slave,’ Martil said coldly, using anger to cover himself. ‘I never asked for any of this! I never agreed to save the dragons and the magic—I didn’t even want to save another country after I left Rallora—’

  Then Argurium was looming over him and he glimpsed the fearsome creature that had so terrified the Derthals. ‘Well, you shall hear it from me,’ she said, her voice lashing like a whip. ‘You won our agreement to help you but only if you fulfilled your end of the bargain by ensuring the return of the dragons and the magic. Risking your life and nearly dying is not acceptable. We must stay close to you—or I shall be forced to take you away from here, to the safety of Dragonara Isle.’

  Martil spat in disgust. ‘Do you think I tried to get myself killed on purpose?’ he snarled.

  ‘No, but you risked yourself unnecessarily. I want you to be more careful…’

  Martil shook his head. ‘We are in a war. My life will always be at risk.’

  ‘Well, I want you to always think of what rests on you…’

  That touched the fear inside Martil. ‘Will you leave me alone?’ he almost screamed at the dragon. Why did this have to happen, on top of everything else?

  Argurium paused and looked at him carefully for a long moment before speaking again. ‘I cannot leave you alone. But we are here to help you,’ she promised, finally. ‘I just need your word that you will not risk yourself so rashly again.’

  ‘You have it!’ he snapped, trying not to think what a wonderful excuse this would be not to fight again, when not only a little girl but everything depended on him.

  ‘I know it is a great deal for you to take in and that we ask much of you. But we can help. What do you need?’