by Duncan Lay
‘Sire! I have always paid my taxes, I am a loyal subject!’ the man cried.
Gello smiled thinly. ‘Then you will obey me now. But I shall reward your loyalty. I shall leave you your son.’
‘No! You cannot do this!’ the man howled. ‘Sire, I beg you!’
But Gello had already turned away as grinning, armoured men moved in.
‘Down there.’ Merren pointed. ‘The people in that village. We must warn them.’
They had been searching for Berellians and had seen a company of them heading for a deserted village. Only the village was not quite deserted—half-a-dozen men were hurriedly loading goods onto a wagon. There was no question of fighting so many Berellians, but there might be time to let those villagers get away. Martil brooded silently at the thought. Merren might be enjoying saving families that had left it too long to flee north but all he could see was death for more of his Rallorans.
Argurium flew in low over the village, coming to a delicate stop outside the village inn. Almost before the dragon’s wings had stopped beating, Merren had jumped down and was hurrying over to where the astonished men stared at them. Martil, cursing, hurried after her.
‘There are a hundred Berellians on their way here. Leave that and start running!’ Merren shouted.
The men just stared at her.
She paused then. Something seemed wrong. They were not bowing, they did not seem relieved to see her—although they did seem a little afraid.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, looking at the wagon they were loading. Rather than food and drink, they seemed to be piling up furniture, books and paintings.
Martil arrived as the men looked from one to another, and at Merren.
‘They’re looters. Thought they’d profit before the Berellians got here,’ Martil said softly, taking her arm and trying to ease her back, while drawing the Dragon Sword.
The men, who had been slowly moving towards Merren, froze at the sight of the Sword.
‘Are you looting this village?’ Merren asked coldly, shaking off Martil’s hand.
The men’s silence condemned them as effectively as if they had admitted it.
‘What were you thinking of? Do you even live here?’ Merren said angrily. ‘Answer me!’
‘We have nothing. Why not take something from those who do not want it any more?’ one of the looters muttered.
Merren could barely believe her ears. How could anyone think of stealing at a time like this?
‘You’re as bad as the Berellians! I should bring you all back for trial,’ Merren blazed.
‘Merren, we don’t have time—we should leave now.’ Martil took her arm again. ‘The Berellians will deal with them more harshly than we could.’
Merren wrenched her arm clear of Martil. ‘Are we to let them get away with this?’
He was tempted to tell her this was all her idea but Karia had been whispering to him on the flight that he needed to be nicer to Merren and starting another argument hardly seemed the right way to go about it.
A trumpet call in the distance made any reply pointless. The looters jumped onto their wagon, whipped the horses into a trot and clattered out of the village.
‘We have to go too,’ Martil warned, sheathing the Sword.
Merren shook her head. ‘How could people do this?’
Martil had no answer she would like, so he just helped her rush back to Havell, Karia and Argurium.
The dragon flew away as the first Berellians rode into the village. And, from up high, they saw the looters caught and killed by Berellians, the heavily laden wagon unable to get away.
‘Back to the capital. I have seen all I want to,’ Merren said dully.
‘I need to return to the Rallorans, work out a way to save Kesbury and the others,’ Martil said sourly.
‘Is that wise? We shall not be there to protect you…’ Havell began.
‘For Aroaril’s sake! I won’t be doing much fighting, the Berellians are still at least a day from Wells!’ Martil snarled, happy to find a safe target for his anger and frustration.
Tiera found Barrett in his library.
‘When did you get back?’ she asked brightly.
‘Not long ago.’ Barrett had been trying to read about the weather patterns, and how to affect them, while fuming away quietly, but could not restrain a smile as he looked up at her. ‘How have your studies been going?’
‘Not too bad. I find some things hard—just when I think I have it, it seems to slip away from me,’ she admitted.
‘It’s a common problem. But, with practice, you will get there,’ he sympathised. She may not have anything like the ability of Karia but she had an extraordinary capacity for work.
‘I was surprised to learn you were here—I thought you would be at the palace.’ She sat down opposite him.
Barrett could not restrain a snort of derision.
‘They don’t need me there,’ he growled. ‘They have the dragon to move them around, a network of priests and priestesses to tell them what is going on—as well as all the birds I magicked.’
‘But the Queen…’
‘Is more interested in her Champion than me!’
Tiera leaned back, and Barrett realised he had put too much venom into his voice.
‘I am sorry. I am tired and you are the last person I want to shout at,’ he apologised. ‘It’s just that…’
‘What?’
Barrett hesitated, but there were things he had kept inside too long. Besides, since Merren had told him she could never love him back, he had felt lost.
‘I feel like I have wasted my life,’ he confessed finally.
‘What are you talking about? You are the Queen’s Magician. Look where you live! Without you, the country would have been destroyed by Gello; the Queen would have been killed!’ Tiera gasped.
Barrett smiled wanly. ‘And yet, it probably still will be destroyed. I have all this power, and what have I really done with it? There are so many people I could have helped, but did not, because I selfishly thought of myself.’
‘But you’re not selfish,’ Tiera protested.
‘I am,’ he sighed. ‘I served the Queen faithfully, but also because I thought she would declare her love for me one day. All around our country there is misery. And outside of Norstalos it is even worse! You should have seen how the Derthals lived. I have this gift, I could have used it to make people happier and all I cared about was petty politics and my own glory. So I got what I deserved!’
Tiera could sense what Barrett really wanted was for her to comfort him. It was almost funny. His power was only limited by his imagination, while she was a former servant, who had been abused and almost killed. Yet he was the one who needed help.
She cleared her throat uncertainly.
‘There is much you can do to help people, although I think you need to do it in the service of the Queen, at least until the country is safe. But you do not care just about yourself. I know that.’
Instantly, Barrett smiled up at her.
‘Your words mean a great deal to me,’ he admitted. ‘You do not know what a comfort it is, being able to talk to you!’
Tiera could not help but feel a little warmth at that, at the way he smiled at her.
‘Look, Queen Merren’s loss can be your gain. Show me the exercises you are struggling with and I’ll see if I can show you the way through,’ he offered.
‘But aren’t you too busy?’ she said doubtfully.
‘If they want me, they know where to find me.’ Barrett smiled. ‘Helping you would be the perfect way for me to relax, after what we went through to get the Derthals on our side.’
Tiera clapped her hands. ‘You must tell me about it! I heard you defeated the Berellian wizard and saved Captain Martil’s life!’
Barrett smiled. ‘Well, that is true. And it is a fascinating story.’
Martil watched Karia wave to him as she flew off on Argurium, feeling sick in the stomach, not just because Merren did not wave.
The problem of conducting a fighting retreat across hundreds of miles of countryside, while being pursued by thousands of Berellians and facing the threat of being cut off by the Tenochs or Gello’s renegades was big enough, although reasonably easy. Stay far enough ahead of the Berellians so they did not catch up, and make it to the capital before the Tenochs or Gello.
But he had come to the conclusion that his problems were never simple.
Battle had always been the one place he could empty his mind of all problems, lose himself in the moment. But since that damned duel with Cezar, every time he drew the Dragon Sword, he was thinking about everything he was risking when he crossed swords with another man. His mind was full of Karia, of Merren and their unborn son—and of the task the dragons had laid upon him. The pressure Havell and Argurium were placing on him was understandable—but at the worst possible time.
He knew he was obsessing over his fears, for it was such a strange sensation, and that meant his anger, which he thought under control, was just below the surface. He was beginning to see what Merren was saying about everyone wanting a piece of her. He was supposed to be the war captain, as well as a dad, as well as the saviour of the bloody dragons—and he wanted to be a husband for Merren as well. And he did not know where to begin with any of them.
But what was truly tying his stomach in knots was being a dad to Karia and a husband to Merren.
As soon as they had landed, Karia had drawn him aside. She had wanted to talk to him since Merren had shouted at them, find out what had gone wrong.
‘Why are you fighting with Merren? You know she won’t marry you if you fight. So you’ve got to try harder to be nice to her. Because you seem to fight a lot.’
‘I don’t want to fight with her,’ Martil protested.
Karia bit her lip. There was a question she wanted to ask, but she did not know if she wanted to hear the answer. ‘Was it about the baby she is having?’
Martil stopped, taken aback. He could not think of an answer immediately. Not only was this a sensitive subject, but he was also horribly aware, from past experience, that she had rather more knowledge on this subject than a small girl should.
Karia saw his hesitation and felt a flicker of fear. ‘It was, wasn’t it? Are you going to leave me when Merren has the baby?’
‘No!’ Martil said instantly.
‘Well, Merren never plays with me any more. We used to play dolls all the time back in the forest—she hasn’t played dolls with me for ages! And you always seem to be going off and fighting, leaving me alone and scared!’
Martil sighed. She always knew the words that would strike him to the heart. ‘Merren is very busy. She is the Queen. When this is over, then she might be able to play with you again,’ he offered.
‘But when will this be over? And by then, she will want to play with the baby! I bet you will, too! You don’t even want to stay with me now!’
Martil felt a bitter pang at the thought of the baby, his son, growing up never knowing Martil was his father. But he knew he could not show any of that.
‘I don’t want to leave you. But there are things I have to do, to save people’s lives. It is very important work…’ he tried to explain.
‘More important than me?’
‘No! Just…differently important,’ he tried to explain, knowing from the expression on her face that she was not convinced. ‘Look, when the baby is born, you and I shall go somewhere special, do things that are fun,’ he told her seriously. ‘And I promise to get back to the capital for a day or two, to spend time with you soon.’
Karia cocked her head on one side and looked at him carefully. She could either throw a tantrum at this point or accept what he said. He looked sad, so she decided she had done all she could. Now to help him. ‘Are you sad that Merren won’t play with you, either?’ she asked, a question so sharp he did not know whether to laugh or cry.
‘I suppose I am,’ he admitted.
‘But at least we have each other,’ she told him, patting him gently on the cheek. She decided to work on Merren herself. He was obviously too silly to do it properly himself. ‘I love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too.’ He reached out and hugged her, feeling her small arms encircle him and hold him close. But strangely, rather than offer him comfort, it made his insides knot and twist. I cannot leave her. I have to be here for her. But how can I do that and fight all the time?
Onzalez signalled for Chanlon to be brought forwards. He had expected to find more Norstalines than this and the lack of sacrificial victims was beginning to annoy him. He intended to speak to Markuz about ensuring the raiding parties brought back prisoners. He knew the strategy was to use brutal tactics, force the Witch Queen’s army to face them but dead families were no use to him. The dead could not feel fear.
‘These are your countrymen. Perhaps they even joined you for a church service,’ he told Chanlon, as the ex-priest stared at a young couple, who had been stripped and were being held down over a fallen log.
‘Now you have a choice. Sacrifice them to Zorva, pledge your soul to Him and you shall lead the hunt for that priest of Aroaril who humiliated you and defies us. Or hold true to your old faith—and you may die with them, your soul still Aroaril’s,’ he told Chanlon.
Chanlon stared at the young couple, who pleaded with him to save them. He did not listen to that, although his eyes lingered on the woman. This was not a choice. He wanted revenge on Kesbury and he wanted to live. Everything else was just noise.
‘Give me the knife, and tell me what I have to do,’ he said.
Karia was determined to continue her attempts to get Merren to realise she had to marry Martil.
‘Flying’s great, isn’t it, Merren? Argurium, thank you for giving us this treat!’
‘It is my pleasure to carry you,’ Argurium said. ‘And I look forward to taking you to Dragonara Isle, and showing you around my home!’
Karia laughed. ‘I know! I can’t wait to meet all the talking animals!’
Havell opened his mouth but closed it again tiredly.
‘And, afterwards, perhaps one of my daughters can bring you back!’ Argurium continued.
Karia leaned down, unsure she had heard that right. ‘Your daughters? What do you mean?’
Too late, Merren thought to change the subject.
‘Well, child, when the Dragon Egg is opened by the Dragon Sword, the dragons shall be reborn. They will not really be my daughters—but I like to think of them that way.’
‘But I want to see you!’ Karia protested, her bottom lip trembling. ‘What will happen to you?’
‘I shall be part of the magic, living on through the next generation of dragons. But there is no need for sadness. I shall have fulfilled my life’s purpose.’
‘That’s so sad!’ Karia sighed, and reached back for Merren’s hand. ‘I wish Martil was here. Don’t you, Merren?’
‘Sometimes,’ was all Merren said.
‘You know, it would be great to be a family. The three of us together. We used to have so much fun, you and I, playing dolls back in the forest. Maybe we could play again when we get back…’
‘Can’t we get back to the capital any quicker?’ Merren snapped.
Karia sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she first thought. Why were adults so silly?
Father Quiller was rather enjoying himself. He was riding at the front of a horde of Derthals—tribe upon tribe had joined High Chief Sacrax until there were thousands of them marching. He could look over his shoulder and see a forest of spearheads. Now they were out of the mountains and on the northern grasslands—the very northern tip of Norstalos, inhabited only by a few hardy souls, hunters and, of course, the gold and silver miners—and the sight looked even more impressive.
Quiller had two of Sacrax’s personal guards carry the Queen’s banner, while he rode out ahead. After all, the chances of anyone living out here having heard the latest news from the capital were slim. Most probably did not e
ven know there was a war on.
The few Norstalines he saw did not hang around long enough to even look at the banner. They just grabbed a few items and either ran or galloped off into the distance. He thought about trying to call out to them—but they were usually too far away. In some ways it was humorous—these simple folk no doubt thought that this was the beginning of another goblin war, when in fact the Derthals were here to save them. But it was also worrying—what if one farmer loosed a crossbow bolt that turned the Derthals from allies into enemies?
All he could do was keep a close watch, and count the miles as they rolled past under the rapid tread of the Derthals.
‘We must change our strategy somewhat,’ Merren announced. ‘Our plan has all been about speed, and preserving the army. That is still important but we must take more time and trouble to get people away. There are too many that we plan to leave behind. They must be given more of a chance to escape.’
‘Your majesty, you do know the people you are talking about are the ones who doubt your rule, or even openly support Gello. It might be better all round if we left them behind…’ Sendric began.
‘No!’ Merren shook her head. ‘They will not suffer because of that. We must redouble our efforts to get people out before they are taken by our enemies. Have the Tenochs landed yet?’
Louise produced a piece of parchment. ‘Captain Rocus reports their ships will land tomorrow. It seems they have chosen Cessor as their main thrust; most of their ships are there. The rest will reach Worick the day after.’
‘He must hold the city long enough to give the people a chance to get away. When the Tenochs land, the citizens will see the error of their support for Gello. The same goes for Hutter at Worick. See to it.’
‘Yes, my Queen.’ Conal scratched quickly on a piece of parchment.
‘And the rest of the evacuation? How goes it?’
All eyes turned to Archbishop Nott, whose network of priests and priestesses was out on every road in the country.
