The Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  ‘If we can buy ourselves a few more days, hold up these invasions, we should be able to get most of the people to safety,’ he predicted. ‘But our enemies are doing their best to catch up with the refugees. I fear for those who are unable to stand the pace.’

  Merren rubbed tired eyes. The image of the slaughtered Norstaline families she had seen down south was still fresh.

  ‘I shall take Argurium out, to do what I can.’

  ‘You must be careful, my Queen. Without you, we are lost,’ Conal warned.

  Merren waved away the worry. ‘I’m more concerned with saving the people.’

  ‘That depends on the weather,’ Nott pointed out. ‘The roads are not wide enough to take this number of travellers. Those without wagons or carts are forced to walk on the grass beside the road. To make good speed, we need it to stay dry. Rain means we shall be trapped.’

  ‘Can you predict what the weather will be?’ Merren demanded instantly.

  Nott sighed. ‘We are able to ask Aroaril for more rain—but I have never heard of asking for no rain. Of course I can try—but I would not depend on the results. I know wizards normally leave the weather to nature and the priests but perhaps Barrett might be able to help.’

  There was a pause, as they all looked around the table.

  ‘Where is Barrett?’ Merren asked the obvious question.

  ‘I don’t know, my Queen. We could not find him in the palace, and there are too few servants left to send them off to search for him through the city,’ Gia apologised.

  ‘Perhaps at his house?’ Conal suggested.

  Merren shook her head. She did not have the energy to deal with a disgruntled Barrett now. Let him sulk for a while—if they really needed him, he would come. She was sure of that, at least. And perhaps he would be in a better mood when he did come back.

  ‘Leave him for now. Archbishop, as you said, this is more of your responsibility than Barrett’s anyway. The wind is still blowing from the north; I have never known it to change this early in the year. I’m sure between you and Aroaril it will remain dry long enough for us to get the people to safety.’

  ‘I shall do my best, my Queen.’ Nott nodded.

  Kettering swore violently and kicked the cooking pot that had held last night’s dinner across the room.

  ‘I didn’t think the stew was that bad, Killer,’ Leigh said nervously.

  ‘What?’ Kettering turned, then shook his head. ‘Not that, this!’ He held up a crumpled piece of parchment, brought to him by a magicked bird.

  ‘Is there bird shit on the parchment again?’ Hawke asked, wisely. ‘I hate it when that happens.’

  Kettering took a deep breath. ‘No, it’s our new orders. We’re not to leave Cessor.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Leigh snorted.

  ‘There’re too many people still here.’

  ‘But we’ll never get far enough away now—do these people know how fast a wagon can go?’ Hawke rumbled.

  ‘They know. They want us to get the carriages from the rich streets, load them up with supplies and get north that way.’

  ‘So that means back to that street, with the screaming hag, and the fat bastard with the crossbow?’ Leigh groaned. ‘They hate us!’

  ‘But we have to protect them,’ Kettering grunted.

  ‘Pass me the cooking pot. Now I want to kick it!’ Hawke declared.

  Merren accepted her cup of tea with a smile. She, Louise and Gia were in her rooms, with Jaret and Wilsen on guard outside, with orders to let nobody in. Another survey had come in, with results as bad as the last. The people had spoken—and a notorious warrior with a bloodstained past and sheep farmers for parents was not the Prince Consort they wanted. Perhaps if Gia and Louise could give her the space to be herself, then her heart might agree to what her head told her she must do. Although, strangely, he was almost making it easier for her…

  ‘So we’re standing there in front of this family we rescued, having a screaming match,’ she sighed. ‘Everything we say to each other is another argument!’

  ‘Have you thought of talking to him quietly?’ Louise suggested. She and Gia had not expected to be called back in for another of these meetings, despite Merren’s earlier words, after the last. They were not sure what she wanted from them—and less sure how to provide it.

  ‘If I could just make the decision! It’s like Martil and Sendric are symbolic of everything I face as a queen. All my lessons on how to rule, all the things I was told about royalty, tell me I should choose Sendric. But my father failed as a king; his mistakes led us to this point. I have my own ideas on how to be Queen. I know being a good ruler will take a mixture of both but it makes it hard to know which things he taught me are wrong, and which are right.’

  ‘It’s easier to make the decision when you’re not a queen,’ Gia admitted.

  ‘I know—Sendric!’ Louise shivered. ‘Aroaril, he’s ancient! I thought you needed to have as many children as possible?’

  Merren put down her cup. This was what she needed to talk about. But she could not bring herself to admit the real story. As much as she wanted to, she could not break the habits, the training ingrained into her. ‘Perhaps I should go and talk to Martil,’ was all she said. ‘Now, tell me, what is the story of you and Conal?’

  Gia laughed as Louise blushed defensively, giving Merren time to cover her frustration at herself. It seemed she could only truly let her defences down around Martil. If only they were talking…

  6

  Rocus peered out from the harbour warehouse towards where the first of the Tenoch warships sailed into Cessor. Every Norstaline vessel had been loaded with people, or food, or both and sent north days ago. The plan had been to join them but then orders had come through to hold the city long enough to give the people a chance to escape when they saw the invasion.

  Rocus had been spat on and his men pelted with everything from rotten fruit to the contents of a chamber pot by these people. He would have been happy to see them die but, even without the Queen’s orders, recognised they all had innocent servants, as well as tons of supplies the others would need this winter. Besides, once out on the road, the Tenochs’ massive advantage in numbers would be almost unstoppable—and there was nothing in the way of hills, passes or valleys that could be used to slow them down. It was flat country and good roads all the way to the capital.

  Cessor’s harbour was big enough for three score ships to berth at its long wooden jetties. Each jetty was owned by a rich merchant, or merchant company and all of these had their own warehouses facing the water. This meant these large wooden buildings overlooked everything that berthed at Cessor. He had all 500 archers hidden in the warehouses, while Kettering’s men were up in the town.

  Unlike Norstaline ships, the Tenoch vessels were powered by both sails and oars. Watching them row blithely into the harbour of a Norstaline city, as if they owned the place, set his teeth on edge. He would make them pay, he promised, as the first one eased alongside a jetty. He was sweating, a mixture of nerves and anger. Martil had stressed the need to preserve the men but Rocus felt released by the Queen’s orders to hurt the Tenochs.

  ‘What are the others waiting for?’ Cropper, the leader of the archers, asked as just one ship slipped in towards the docks.

  ‘They think we might be waiting for them. Pass the word—stay hidden. We shall strike when they bring the rest of their fleet in. Tell Kettering his men are to deal with the first ship’s crew,’ Rocus ordered.

  ‘Father!’ Karia sprinted over to Archbishop Nott and gave him a huge hug.

  With a chuckle he hugged her back. With Martil still down south, he had been happy to look after Karia, although his many other duties were leaving him exhausted at the end of the day.

  ‘Can I show you some magic?’ she offered. ‘And then we can do some reading!’

  ‘Of course.’

  Karia hurried over to her books. She missed Martil but she still loved Father (she could not think of him as Archbishop) Not
t deeply. The only thing that would have made her any happier was if there was a mother as well. Sometimes she dreamed about her mother; a woman she had never seen. Martil was great to hug but sometimes she wished he did not smell of sweat, leather, steel—and especially blood. When Merren held her, it had felt different. Nicely different. What would it have been like had she known her mother? She hoped Merren would be a bit nicer—and she hoped Martil would come back soon.

  As if reading her thoughts, Nott smiled at her.

  ‘Martil will return. It is good to see the two of you together. And you must be strong for each other. Much depends on you both,’ he said seriously, ‘and I might not always be here to help you.’

  ‘Of course you will, Father!’ Karia said scornfully.

  ‘No, my dear. When I am not here, you must always obey your father.’ He patted her gently on the head.

  ‘But what if he’s not there? Will I have a mother to look after me as well?’ Karia asked carefully.

  Nott’s smile faded. ‘I cannot say,’ he said, equally carefully.

  The residents of Cessor had been able to watch the progress of the Tenoch fleet easily enough as their homes—although not the servant quarters—gave an excellent view of the harbour. So they knew that an army was landing in their city. All felt that, as long as they kept their doors shut, they would be perfectly safe.

  Herena, for one, watched with satisfaction. At last the rightful King would be returned. The Cessors would take back their city and she could continue her ongoing campaign to marry her son off to one of Count Cessor’s daughters. That had to be worth a minor baronetcy, at the very least! The sight of Gello’s red flag with the double sword badge reassured her these warriors were only here to liberate her country from a dangerous radical. But then she caught sight of some scruffy-looking soldiers, the type she had kicked out of the street, sneaking through her garden. For a moment she was too outraged to do anything. How dare they trespass! Then she realised they planned to spring a trap on the warriors marching in the street outside. Well, that just wouldn’t do! She knew her duty and, lifting her long dress up—so the hem would not be dirtied by brushing along the cobbles outside—she swept out her front door, intending to warn Gello’s men of the foul treachery that awaited them.

  ‘Greetings,’ she called loudly.

  The Tenochs reacted instantly, moving to each side of the street, while what looked like an officer rushed over.

  She fixed a smile on her face—nothing too much, not like the one she reserved for royalty—and cleared her throat. ‘I am here to warn you! You are about to be attacked by some foul brigands,’ she declared in ringing tones.

  ‘What? Show me!’ the officer demanded.

  Herena stared at his face with a mixture of horror and curiosity. He had marks etched into the skin of his forehead and cheeks, while his ears and nose were pierced with what looked like shards of gold. That sort of thing would never be allowed in Norstalos, and she began to doubt why King Gello had allowed himself to be associated with such men.

  ‘Show me, woman!’ the officer repeated. He was agitated enough as it was. The city was strange, and he did not like being the first company into its echoing streets. He grabbed her arm and shoved her back towards the house.

  ‘How dare you! Take your filthy hands off me! And I demand you address me with some respect!’ Herena snatched her arm back. ‘I shall report you to King Gello for insubordination!’

  He grabbed her again and, outraged, she delivered a ringing slap to his face.

  The officer blinked in surprise then struck her back. His blow sent Herena crashing to the ground. She screamed, in pain and in outrage at finding herself lying on the filthy gutter.

  Up and down the street, windows were popping open and people staring out at the scene.

  ‘Hey you! Leave her alone!’ Fergus roared, waving his crossbow.

  That was enough for the Tenoch officer. ‘It’s a trap!’ he shouted.

  ‘No, we are—!’ A horrified Herena rolled onto her back and tried to explain but the officer slammed down his axe-club, striking sparks from the cobbles where its blade hacked through her neck.

  ‘Now!’ Kettering ordered his trumpeter. ‘Attack now!’

  In the street, the cries of outrage from the residents at Herena’s brutal death was quickly replaced by terrified cries and pleas for mercy, as Tenochs began breaking down doors and windows, seeking to get inside the houses of what they thought were their attackers.

  The Tenochs looked around as the trumpet call echoed down the street—then frantically defended themselves as a mass of armed men erupted out of laneways and from behind garden walls.

  Kettering leaped over the wall and cut down one of the Tenoch scouts.

  ‘Kill them all!’ he bellowed, as his cavalry company thundered past.

  ‘You need to travel south. What is going on at Wells will have a vital effect on our future. Without your help, Kesbury will be lost, killed by a Fearpriest,’ Nott told Milly solemnly. ‘You must save him. He has the potential to become a talisman to the people; the Ralloran who saved the village that spat on him. The Church needs him. And it also needs you to defeat a Fearpriest.’

  ‘Why?’ Milly asked.

  ‘Trust me. It is very important. The people must know that you are stronger than the Fearpriests.’

  ‘But what about you? I’m only a bishop—and I shouldn’t even hold that position yet…’

  ‘You are better than you think. And you have been chosen by Aroaril for great things. Now listen to me. You would remember better than I what they teach in the seminary—how Aroaril and Zorva are brothers, but one is the God of Light, the other of Darkness. Mankind is a reflection of these two Gods, a combination of good and evil. Most of us strive to be good, to limit the darkness within us and turn to the light, but some, like the Fearpriests, embrace the darkness and are consumed by evil. They tell you Fearpriests are able to kill with a touch, can do all manner of terrible things, but they must have a weakness beyond their arrogance. And I have found it. After much prayer and contemplation, Aroaril has revealed to me how we can defeat a Fearpriest. It seems they can affect objects of stone and wood but not iron or steel. I suspect it is because they do not use those metals—in their homeland, they never learned how to work ore. Instead they use a volcanic rock for cutting tools. But we can affect metals. If they use a metal knife, for instance…We shall tell every priest and priestess this revelation from Aroaril but it may fall to you to test this.’

  ‘How? Why?’

  ‘I do not know precisely. But you need to be ready. It does not take one skilled in divination to link this to your trip south. You just have to have faith, trust in me, and ask no more questions.’

  Milly bowed her head, although it was almost impossible not to say anything else.

  ‘Save me!’ A screaming woman, her dress ripped at the shoulder, stumbled towards Kettering.

  Kettering shoved her aside and hacked at the Tenoch behind her. The man parried, Kettering’s steel sword taking a huge chunk of wood out of the man’s axe-club, then Hawke’s blade came over Kettering’s shoulder to send the Tenoch reeling away, his throat torn open.

  Kettering wiped blood from his face and tried to work out what was going on. The Tenochs had broken into a dozen houses along the street, after his cavalry had slaughtered any that stood in the street—now he was trying to hunt them down. But he was being hindered by residents deciding now was the best time to leave—and demanding he protect them.

  Some had already clattered off in their carriages, servants hanging on grimly to doors and roofs. Others had decided they would not leave without as many of their treasures as they could pack, and Kettering had watched a furious fight between a handful of his men and Tenochs raging through a garden, while servants staggered past them, arms full of clothes and wooden chests.

  The ambush down at the harbour seemed to have gone well—too well. After the archers had slaughtered a ship’s company, the Tenoch
ships were now sending volleys of rocks into the lower town, destroying any building that might serve as a hiding place for an archer. Worse, they were also hurling balls of pitch, which had started a dozen fires already—and threatened to destroy the whole town. Archers had streamed up from the harbour, dragging a score of wounded men with them—although their arrows were helping remove the last Tenochs from the street.

  ‘Kettering! Captain Kettering!’

  He turned to see a group of archers hurrying towards him, dragging a pair of limp bodies. He cursed as he recognised them.

  ‘What happened?’ he snarled.

  The archer trumpeter was bleeding from a graze to his forehead.

  ‘Catapult stones. Captain Rocus shoved me away before he and Captain Cropper were hit. They both need a priest, right now.’

  Kettering swore again. Both were unconscious and, from their smashed limbs and bloodied faces, he wondered if they would ever wake.

  ‘Sir, you’re the senior officer in Cessor now.’

  Kettering could not help but laugh, the sound causing the archer trumpeter to edge away slightly from this blood-splattered man with his long hair tied back.

  ‘Right. Let’s find some carriages and get the wounded on them. The Tenochs are doing a better job of slowing themselves down than we ever could. Sound the recall, we shall meet at the city gates. Find me some lieutenants from your archer companies.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Er, carriages, sir?’

  Kettering sighed. ‘Follow me.’

  He turned and walked inside the nearest house, which happened to be Fergus’s, flanked by both Hawke and Leigh. The fine wooden door had been smashed down by Tenoch axe-clubs, and Hawke sighed with sadness when he saw it, then quietly pocketed the solid brass knocker. Inside the house, three dead Tenochs lay where they had fallen while servants rushed around like hens disturbed by a fox, carrying plates, boxes of cutlery and leather-bound books.