Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  For Belinda

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Character List

  Map

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Praise for Duncan Lay

  Praise for the Wounded Guardian

  Books By Duncan Lay

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Character List

  Alban Priest of Aroaril; works with Derthals

  Albiona The continent

  Argurium A dragon

  Aroaril The Sun God, God of Light

  Aviland Fought in Ralloran Wars; defeated by the Rallorans

  Barrett The Queen’s Magician of Norstalos

  Bayes Officer of Duke Gello; fights at Gerrin

  Bellic Berellian town; scene of infamous massacre

  Beq One of Gello’s war captains

  Berellia Fought in Ralloran Wars; defeated by the Rallorans

  Berry Northern town; ruled by Baron Berry

  Borin Martil’s childhood friend; killed in Ralloran Wars

  Byrez Berellian earl; opponent of the Fearpriests

  Cessor Count of Norstalos; obeys Duke Gello

  Cezar Champion to King Markuz

  Chanlon Former priest of Aroaril; enemy to Rallorans

  Chelten Duke Gello’s former bodyguard

  Conal Ex-bandit; friend of Martil

  Croft King of Norstalos; Merren’s father

  Cropper Archer officer

  Darry Norstaline innkeeper on the Tetran border

  Declan Archbishop of Norstalos

  Derthals Primitive men who live north of Norstalos; unkindly called goblins

  Dunner Ralloran sergeant; friend of Kesbury and Nerrin

  Edil Father of Karia

  Ezok Berellian ambassador to Norstalos

  Fearpriest A priest of Zorva

  Feld One of Gello’s war captains

  Forde Militia officer from Gerrin

  Gamelon Bishop of eastern Norstalos

  Garie Ralloran officer; killed at Bellic

  Gello Duke of Western Norstalos; cousin to Merren

  Gerrin Northern town; ruled by Baron Gerrin

  Gia Forde’s wife

  Gratt Servant to Count Sendric; later leader of town council

  Grissum One of Gello’s war captains

  Havell An Elfaran dragon-rider

  Havrick Officer of Duke Gello; foe of Martil

  Hawke Criminal who serves Kettering

  Healey Norstaline bard

  Heath One of Gello’s war captains

  Hutter Militia officer from Chell

  Itlan Tenoch war leader

  Ivene Duchess of Norstalos; Gello’s mother

  Jaret Militiaman of Gerrin who joins rebellion

  Jennar Commander of the Sendric garrison; loyal to Duke Gello

  Karia Young girl with magic powers

  Kay Ranger officer; Captain of Merren’s Royal Guard

  Kesbury Ralloran sergeant; later a priest of Aroaril

  Kettering Inn manager framed for murder; joins rebellion

  Khaliz Royal Magician of Berellia

  Ladria Daughter of Count Cessor

  Lahra Whore who looks like Queen Merren

  Leigh Criminal who serves Kettering

  Lilith Servant girl; works for Prent

  Livett One of Gello’s war captains

  Loft Norstaline innkeeper on the Berellian border

  Louise Wime’s wife

  Macord Ralloran captain; a Butcher of Bellic

  Martil Ralloran war captain; now Champion to the Queen of Norstalos

  Markuz King of Berellia

  Menner Dressmaker from Wollin

  Merren Queen of Norstalos

  Milly Priestess of Aroaril; former secretary to Archbishop Declan

  Nerrin Ralloran sergeant; inspired by Martil to join Queen Merren

  Norstalos Biggest country on the continent of Albiona

  Nott A priest of Aroaril; Karia’s grandfather

  Onzalez A Fearpriest

  Oscarl Ralloran captain; a Butcher of Bellic

  Prent Archbishop of Norstalos; appointed by Gello

  Quiller Priest of Aroaril at Sendric

  Rath A Derthal chief

  Rocus Guardsman of Sendric; officer to Merren

  Romon A Norstaline bard; joins rebellion

  Rowran Ralloran captain; a Butcher of Bellic

  Ryder Ranger sergeant to Captain Kay

  Sacrax The Derthal High Chief

  Saltek Berellian priest of Aroaril; serves Earl Byrez

  Sendric Northern city of Norstalos; ruled by Count Sendric

  Sillat Owner of the Golden Gate brothel

  Snithe Ralloran captain; a Butcher of Bellic

  Tam A soldier of Duke Gello

  Tarik Chief hunter of Count Sendric; a leader of rebellion

  Tenoch The Fearpriest homeland

  Tiera Servant girl; works for Prent

  Tolbert King of Rallora

  Tomon Martil’s childhood friend; killed in war. Later, name of Martil’s horse

  Turen Militiaman of Chell; serves Hutter

  Ward A soldier of Duke Gello

  Warnock Berellian bard

  Wilsen Guardsman of Sendric; joins rebellion

  Wime Militiaman of Sendric; a leader of rebellion

  Worick Earl of Norstalos; serves Duke Gello

  Yertlaan Tenoch war leader

  Yvonne Daughter of Count Cessor

  Zorva The Dark God

  Map

  1

  Martil opened his eyes. For a long moment he just lay there, trying to remember what had happened. Then it all came back to him.

  The fight with Cezar, the anger and the adrenalin—he shut that out. The agony of his wounds, where the razor-sharp spearhead had ripped him open, even the ache deep in his shoulder and arm, where he had driven himself past exhaustion—and still been able to drive a Derthal spear clean through Cezar—he pushed those aside. The fear, the despair when he had been on his knees, sure he was about to die, knowing what it would do to Karia—he tried to lock that away, although it would not go easily.

  The thing he held on to was Merren. How she had looked when she’d rushed over to him and he’d fallen into her arms. She’d told him they could never be together but the way she had acted after the fight made a lie out of that. She loved him, he knew she did! She would be with him and they would be a family with the baby and Karia. Karia! Where was Karia?

  ‘You’re awake!’

  Martil looked across, but saw only a blur as Karia launched herself off a stool and fastened herself around his neck, clinging on tight.

  ‘I told you never to leave me! I would have been able to save you!’ she cried.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m fine,’ he said awkwardly, trying to breathe through her ferocious embrace, and hug her back at the same time. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have risked leaving her alone? Guilt was thick within him and he held her desperately, kissed her head, feeling her small arms tighten around him.

  ‘I was so scared!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he told her, hoping they had not let her see him covered in blood. Suddenly everything he’d tried to shut away flooded back and the thought of fighting again terrified hi
m, as nothing had before. Not for himself but for Karia, for Merren, for everyone in Norstalos who needed him. He had too much to live for, too many people depending on him. He had too much to lose, too many responsibilities. He held onto Karia. What if Cezar had won? He could say, truthfully, that Cezar had an unfair advantage; the fight would have been different had Cezar not had magical protection—different again had they fought with swords. But he should have lost. His arrogance, thinking himself unbeatable, had nearly cost him his life—and only Cezar’s desire to gloat had given him long enough to recover. Karia deserved more than that from him.

  As for Karia, she had no intention of letting him go any time soon. Waiting back at the church had been bad enough—the howls and shouts of the Derthal crowd had her close to tears. But then Wilsen had rushed up, shouting about magic and she’d known something was wrong by the way Barrett had run off.

  She had feared the worst, especially when Martil did not return, as he had promised. Even though Merren had eventually come to fetch her, the look on the Queen’s face had frightened her—and the blood on Merren’s clothes had only made it worse. Part of it was worrying what would happen to her, but mostly it was because she did not want to lose him. She loved him. Thinking that, she clutched him tighter, unwilling to let him go again.

  The tears had come when she saw him just lying there, not waking up. Luckily Merren had been there. Back at the caves, she had thought Merren would make a good mother. She had been fun to play with, had looked after her while Martil was away and had even taught her to read. But then they had left the caves. Almost immediately, Merren had been too busy to spend time with her and she began to wonder if Merren really liked her. Still, Merren had been wonderful while they had waited for Martil to wake up. She had held Karia close, told her everything would be all right.

  It had given Karia an idea. Martil was always going off and doing silly things. She needed someone else to look after her. Merren was the best one. Sitting there, being cuddled, had been as good as Martil. And Merren smelled better as well. That would mean making sure Merren married Martil. That could not be too hard, surely? It all made sense to her. They needed each other, for they were both always getting into trouble. Having her to look after would give them something better to do. She was sure that a little work from her would be all it took. And then the three of them could live together, happy, as a family. Family was a word Father Nott had spoken of many times but she had never really had one. And that was what she wanted more than anything. Something so important could not be left to silly grown-ups to get right. She would make it happen herself.

  Martil kissed her again, and then glanced up to see Merren standing over the bed, smiling down at him.

  ‘Father Alban had healed you and cleaned you up before we let Karia in,’ the Queen said. ‘By then you had fallen into a deep sleep—Fathers Alban and Quiller said it was better to let you rest. She hasn’t left your side in four turns of the hourglass. She’s barely even eaten!’

  Martil’s arms tightened around Karia. For her to ignore food just reinforced everything he was feeling. He gazed up at Merren, willing her to say something that proved the love he had seen in her face as she’d run to him.

  ‘We’ve all been worried about you,’ Merren said softly.

  She wanted to hug him also, hold him close. Watching that fight had been the hardest thing in her life—worse even than the battles of Sendric or Pilleth. Certainly a part of her had been dismayed at the thought of a Derthal army invading the north of Norstalos. But the greater part was horrified at the thought she was going to watch Martil die.

  Right then she had known that, despite all her father’s teaching, all that had been drummed into her, she was still prepared to put her personal feelings above the needs of the country. The thought of life without Martil had been devastating.

  When he had fallen into her arms, told her that he loved her and knew she loved him, she would have been prepared to put everything aside, agreed to make a life with him, even marry him in front of the whole country. At the moment of life and death, the choice had been easy.

  But that was then.

  While he slept, she had spoken with High Chief Sacrax, Barrett, Quiller and Alban, the Elfaran Havell, comforted Karia—and had more than enough time to think.

  She was going to return to Norstalos with an army of Derthals.

  High Chief Sacrax and almost all his chieftains may have sworn loyalty to her cause—an oath that both Alban and Quiller said would not be broken—but there would be many Norstalines who would see this army not as a rescue force but as another threat. Like Count Sendric, they had been raised on tales of the evil, vicious ‘goblins’ that lived in the north. The cruel killers who had tried to murder a dragon and who would slaughter men, women and children. Ruthless monsters that ate babies, wore skins as cloaks and collected skulls as trophies. That almost of all of this was a lie and it was the Norstalines who had been the aggressors and betrayers was not going to go down well anywhere, let alone the rich towns of the west, who saw Norstalos as blessed by Aroaril and the dragons. It was going to take an extraordinary amount of work just to convince her people to fight alongside the Derthals. How, then, was she going to get them to accept Martil as their Prince Consort and his son as their next King? The people needed reassurance, familiarity. She was asking them to change dramatically and quickly. But she knew there would come a point where they would not accept what she was asking.

  Martil could be the straw that broke the donkey’s back.

  She had convinced herself she’d made the right decision, that she needed to hold to her original plan, to marry Sendric and present Martil’s baby as the Count’s. When Martil had woken up, that decision had once again seemed ridiculous, and it took all of her control not to rush forwards and hold him close. This was a battle between her head and her heart, between what she had learned and what she felt. It would have been so easy, if it were not for Norstalos. But she could not risk her country for something so trivial as her own happiness.

  You must be strong. Think of the people, she told herself.

  ‘Where are we?’ Martil’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘In the caves of High Chief Sacrax,’ Merren replied, glad to be talking and not thinking. ‘You were brought here after the duel.’

  ‘What’s been going on?’

  She sat down carefully on the side of the crude bed—merely a platform raised a foot off the floor and heaped with animal skins. Not only did they smell as though they had never been washed, or even cured properly, but she could not help but think what fleas, lice and Aroaril-knows-what-else might be in there.

  ‘High Chief Sacrax and almost all of his chieftains have sworn to serve me faithfully until our enemies are defeated, and then they will come to live in the Great Northern Forest, which will be theirs in perpetuity. Not all of his chiefs swore—Rath’s tribe has left, along with two other, smaller tribes that were allied to him. But as only those that swore would be allowed to live in Norstalos, even those who seemed against us were eager to join. And there was your victory as well. It impressed the Derthals. Not only did you defeat Cezar, but they saw Barrett defeat the Berellian wizard, so they are sure both our strength and our magic are greater than the Berellians.’

  ‘Glad I could give them so much entertainment.’ Martil tried to smile. ‘Speaking of Barrett, where is he? I need to thank him.’

  ‘He’s resting. We need more time—time to get our people to safety, time to get the Derthals far enough south that they can help us. He has been working on creating a huge storm at sea, to delay the western attack from the Tenochs.’

  Martil nodded. ‘And what of the Berellians?’

  ‘They have left, don’t worry about them,’ Merren assured him.

  ‘What! They should have been killed!’ Martil hissed.

  ‘They were Sacrax’s guests—and he had promised safe passage to the losers. We would have wanted him to keep his word, had we been in that posi
tion,’ Merren argued.

  ‘They would have done their best to kill you,’ Martil muttered. ‘Now they are free to spread more mischief.’

  ‘You forget how important it is for the Derthals to see we are honourable and our word can be trusted,’ Merren said sharply. ‘That far outweighs any danger a couple of Berellians hold. Besides, what can they do? Barrett has already shown their mage is nowhere near as powerful, and Ezok is just an ambassador!’

  ‘You might be surprised at the trouble they will cause. The day may come when we regret letting them go,’ Martil warned.

  Ezok could remember only too well the way his predecessor had died: stripped naked, tied to a column in Markuz’s throne room and then executed by Brother Onzalez. Of late, the image of the dead man, eyes bulging with terror above his gag, had loomed large in his thoughts. He could not help but imagine that was the fate waiting for him in Berellia, after Cezar had failed so spectacularly to kill Captain Martil and persuade the goblins to attack Norstalos. Even now Ezok could not understand how it had all gone so wrong. One moment Cezar had stood above his vanquished, unarmed foe; the next, Martil had come alive and slaughtered Cezar. If Cezar had not sought to taunt his fallen opponent, if he had only stepped in and struck the death blow quickly…of course, he had been distracted by Khaliz’s failure to win his duel with the Norstaline magician, Barrett. If Khaliz had not failed, Cezar could not have been hurt, even if Martil had got up again!

  Ezok could plausibly blame both Khaliz and the dead Cezar for the failure but he worried that would not be enough. Their failure had been bigger than he could have imagined, for the goblins would now send warriors to help the Queen! Onzalez, and Markuz, were going to be furious. Certainly it should not make a difference—even several thousand of these primitive creatures could not stop the three massive armies poised to invade Norstalos from the south, the east and the west. But Onzalez and Markuz were not men to reward failure.

  Ezok had been tempted to flee, to persuade Khaliz to take them both elsewhere. But several things stopped him. First, he had sold his soul to Zorva. Nowhere would he be safe from Onzalez’s wrath. Second, he wanted to share in the power and riches that would flow from their conquest of Norstalos. After all, he was the expert on that country—and still cherished hopes of being named its governor while the Berellian–Tenoch army marched south to crush the rest of the continent. But, most important of all, he had a secret that he hoped would forgive his failure in the north. As a matter of course he had bribed several goblin chiefs and some of the goblins who worked for Father Alban—and the information they had given him might just save his life. So now he was waiting to see Onzalez and Markuz—and hoping his secret was big enough to save his life, or if he could at least make it sound as though it were. At times like these, he almost felt like praying for help. Almost.