Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  The knife plunged home and Chanlon, spurting blood from his mouth, toppled backwards.

  ‘Wish you’d had time to teach me that,’ Kesbury sighed.

  Milly was instantly at his side, placing her hands on his head and his wounds closed once more.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she told him.

  Kesbury glanced over his shoulder, to where Berellian cavalry was galloping towards them.

  ‘I won’t make it. Leave me, take care of those villagers,’ he gasped.

  Milly’s mouth tightened as she grabbed the front of his blood-stained robes.

  ‘On your feet, sergeant! That is an order,’ she barked at him. She held out her hand and his staff scraped across the cobbles and into her hand.

  He gazed at her, shocked, then hauled himself to his feet and, with her help and the aid of the staff, began staggering towards the bridge.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he grunted.

  Milly snorted with laughter. ‘Someone had to save you, after what you did for those people. The Fearpriest was unexpected, though. Luckily they sent that one and not a powerful one.’

  ‘He was enough for me,’ Kesbury grunted.

  ‘Shut up and move. Once we’re over the bridge, I’ll tell you how to fight one,’ Milly snapped, sweating a little under the weight of the large Ralloran.

  They had staggered onto the bridge when the drumming of hooves on cobbles grew loud. Kesbury did not dare to look.

  ‘Go! Save yourself,’ he urged. ‘I’ll slow them down for you.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she told him shortly. ‘I didn’t go through all this just to leave you now!’

  Then Ralloran archers rushed out to fill the bridge, led by Martil.

  ‘Loose!’ he roared.

  Kesbury instinctively flinched but the arrows whistled past them. He did not glance over his shoulder but he heard the noise as the arrows turned the Berellian charge into chaos. He managed to get his feet moving across the bridge to safety, as cheers rang out from the watching Rallorans and villagers.

  ‘Sorry we had to do that to you.’ Martil held out his hand to help Kesbury. ‘Using you as bait was risky but we needed to buy some time. Now we’ve stung their pride, they’ll try and break through here, rather than sending their men around us. We never thought they would have a Fearpriest. Luckily Bishop Milly was with us.’

  ‘Luck had nothing to do with it,’ Milly told him. ‘I was where I needed to be.’

  8

  Merren made sure she found Martil before she returned north—and while Karia was talking to Argurium. He had been dropping snide remarks about her orders since she had arrived. Apart from needing him, she worried what such an attitude would do to the Rallorans. Whatever some of her people thought of the warriors, she knew full well how much she needed them. If they caught Martil’s mood and began to drift away…

  ‘We need to talk,’ she stated. ‘I sent you down here because you were causing me all sorts of trouble. Sendric has calmed down, while Barrett is keeping to himself, Nerrin can handle the retreat, so it should be simple to bring you back. I want you back at the palace with me, I would like the benefit of your advice. But only if I can be sure which Martil I am getting—and that you will be helping me, not questioning my orders. We cannot fight among ourselves when we are facing the Fearpriests. Do you understand?’

  Martil smiled bitterly. ‘Perfectly. You want to use me while you can, then you’ll discard me for Sendric, like a dirty rag…’

  Merren rolled her eyes. ‘Not everything is about you! I told you I have put aside all questions of marriage until the people are safe. What more do you want?’

  Martil looked at her. Could she really not see what he was thinking and feeling? ‘What more do I want? For us to be together!’

  ‘So this is what your arguing is all about?’ she demanded. ‘If I said I would marry you then you would be happy and agree with everything I say?’

  ‘Well, no. Your plan is wrong. It goes against everything we discussed. We are doing exactly what our enemies want, sacrificing what few soldiers we have to protect meaningless farms and villages…’

  ‘They are not meaningless to the people who live there! And we must do everything we can to save lives. That is why we have an army, to protect the weak and helpless. This is not the Ralloran Wars—’

  ‘Exactly! Because my men are dying to save people who hate us and support our enemies!’

  Merren looked him in the eye. ‘That is the last time you shall interrupt me,’ she warned.

  Martil feigned surprise. ‘So your majesty doesn’t want to hear advice that she doesn’t like from servants?’

  She glared at him, and held on to her temper only with the greatest of difficulty. Then Louise’s words came back to her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked gently.

  Instantly he was wrong-footed. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, defensively.

  ‘This is not just about us, or my plan to save people. There’s something else bothering you. I haven’t seen you like this since you were tormented by your dreams, before Pilleth. I thought you were past that now. Is it the Dragon Sword again? I know you had the idea of not using it to kill but surely it cannot object to being used to save women and children? So tell me what is wrong. And I want an honest answer. You seem to think we should be together—prove it. Trust me, talk to me.’

  Martil, who had been about to hotly deny anything was wrong, shut his mouth. The anger and fear swirling around inside him made it easier to fight than think. But he knew she was right.

  ‘It’s not just one thing but many,’ he said softly. ‘That fight with Cezar did something to me. Every time I am about to fight, I cannot stop thinking about Karia, about you and the baby. I so nearly let you all down against that Berellian, I cannot risk that again. And then Havell and Argurium keep reminding me that I am supposed to be saving the magic, and am too important to risk doing anything. Then I have to face the Berellians again, have to send Rallorans to their deaths when I swore I would never do so again…you told me that you felt as though everyone wants something from you as Queen. Well, that’s how I feel now. Karia wants me to be a dad, Havell wants me to stay away from fighting, you want me to lead the men—I am stretched in every direction! And when I fight, I cannot empty my mind. There is too much to think about.’

  Merren stared at him. From the stricken expression on his face, she could see how much admitting that had cost him. She could also understand how he felt, for it was strangely close to what she was going through. She felt like holding him but knew she could not.

  ‘Secure the defence here and then I shall call for you, give you a day with Karia back at the capital,’ she offered.

  Martil sighed, then nodded. ‘We should be able to keep them at bay for a few days. The way we drew them in here, using Kesbury and those refugees as bait, has their blood up and they will try and crash through here, rather than do the sensible thing and cast around for a ford to outflank us. We can give people time to get away by being here—so you need to use it, clear the countryside behind us.’

  ‘What’s going on? When can you come back?’ Karia demanded, walking over.

  ‘Soon,’ Martil promised.

  ‘Great! Father Nott’s been looking after me, he says he doesn’t know when he might get another chance!’

  Merren and Martil exchanged a look at that. It did not sound good to either of them.

  Word seemed to have spread down the roads of Norstalos almost by magic. A ravening horde of goblins was waiting for them in the north. Every man, woman and child north of the passes had been massacred—and the same fate waited any who went there.

  Archbishop Nott spoke to as many people as he could, reassuring them that nobody was dead and, in fact, the Derthals were there to help them and even fight for them. But it was hard work. For centuries, the Norstalines had been raised on tales of evil goblins; strange, twisted creatures that would steal children who played in the forest and who would
attack in the night, their cruel spears sparing no woman or baby. The idea that these monsters of legend, the stuff of a hundred sagas, would actually turn out to be friendly was too much for many people to grasp.

  He was having some success but the pace of the refugees slowed dramatically wherever the rumour went. In some places, Nott felt it was only the sight of smoke in the sky behind them that persuaded the people that the possible danger of goblins ahead of them was better than the definite threat of Tenochs or Berellians.

  And the word from Quiller was little better. Sendric, Gerrin and Berry were full of refugees who had refused to stay in the shelters and had instead rushed to get behind the towns built specially to protect against goblin attack. That would not be so bad, except the towns were not ready for such an influx of people and had sent most of their food to the massive camp being built outside the passes. It was another problem that had to be sent to the Queen. And one she would have to deal with later as well. Already upset at being driven out of their homes, forced to trek hundreds of miles to safety, the people were muttering about Merren’s judgment.

  More and more, people were saying they would have been better off had Gello stayed in power.

  Merren came fully awake with a start. Sleep had been proving difficult to come by. There were problems in every direction—and they only seemed to multiply. For the past three days, she had been flying around the country with Argurium. The emotional burden of speaking to so many suffering people was taking its toll, not to mention the agony of seeing her people killed every day. Each time the dragon flew out, Merren knew she would see her countrymen killed or, worse, captured. And even the ones who escaped, who were still ahead of the invaders, were in a mess. Merren had lost count of the number of sobbing widows and orphans she had comforted, the number of hurt, angry, tired and confused Norstalines she had tried to talk to and encourage. But while she tried to give these people hope, encouragement and new spirit, to push them further up the road to safety, she seemed to take on a little of their despair each time.

  She felt she was losing them. Even though none said as much to her face, she was afraid they were blaming her for bringing this death and misery upon them.

  And there was little good news to cheer her.

  The Rallorans had held the Berellians at bay in Wells for two days then, when Argurium spotted columns of Berellians heading for the fords to the east and west of the town, had pulled out at night. Wells south of the river had been reduced to a ruin, but the Rallorans had got away and, better yet, Kesbury’s villagers had managed to put more than eighty miles between them and the Berellian advance. In the west the news was not so good. While Kettering had managed to stay ahead of the Tenoch pursuit, reaching the bridges over the River Worick safely, Rocus and Cropper would take no further part in this campaign. Cropper had died, and Rocus had only just survived, losing a leg and a hand. Worse still, Hutter warned he was not putting enough space between himself and the Tenochs. Once the people had to get out and walk, they would be at danger of being caught. To the north, the Derthals were still being shunned by the people. High Chief Sacrax was also asking for the Queen to come up for talks, for there was unrest back in the mountains. Barrett’s trick of bringing in game for the Derthals to eat had been a great help to the tribes loyal to Sacrax but it had had an unexpected side effect. Those few tribes that had refused to come and aid the Norstalines were finding it hard to hunt food. Father Alban reported they were raiding the Derthal camp, searching for food. At the moment this was only a nuisance but Sacrax—and Alban—feared it had the potential to get much worse. And it could result in several tribes returning north to protect their families—and weakening the Derthal army.

  Meanwhile, thousands of refugees were milling around the capital, pretending to be resting and finding food for the trip north but, in reality, reluctant to go anywhere near the north.

  Lurid tales of goblins wearing coats of human skin, carrying standards of human skulls and drinking the blood of children were passed up and down the roads and columns of refugees, while sensible stories of Derthals patrolling the passes and keeping to themselves were ignored as ‘obvious lies’.

  Also, in the east, Captain Kay had reported there was a growing number of people who refused to march any further. Some of these included those who had fled eastern villages but, after a few days of travel—and stories of goblin hordes waiting for them—decided they had a better chance of survival by throwing themselves on the mercy of Gello. This trend was increasing as there were no burning villages to accompany Gello’s advance through the east. Elsewhere in the country, those palls of smoke drove people on. But without them, many in the east were staying put. Apparently there were hundreds of people in Wollin who had refused to move and Kay had been forced to leave them, or be caught by Gello’s cavalry. Telling the people that they might be safe, for a while, under Gello—but would almost certainly be killed when the Tenochs and Berellians had completed their conquest of the country was not an argument that was having much success.

  And now this, the news that had snapped her out of her doze.

  ‘Are we sure?’ Merren exclaimed in horror.

  Nott nodded sadly. ‘It is now close enough to see, out on the horizon. The Berellians have been working on the natural magic, which meant that myself, Milly and the others were unable to detect it until now.’

  ‘And Barrett has been locked up with his nubile apprentice, wasting time with her while claiming to be working on some project to create a Magicians’ Guild,’ Merren said bitterly.

  They all contemplated what Archbishop Nott had told them. A massive storm was heading for Norstalos. Enough to turn every road in the north of the country to mud and end their desperate bid to save the people. And this storm would not touch the southern half of the country, meaning the invaders’ progress would not be slowed. It would be a disaster.

  ‘Can we stop it?’ Martil asked. He had returned overnight, to Karia’s delight.

  Nott shook his head slowly. ‘I cannot. Perhaps Barrett might be able to…’

  ‘Then someone get him! Now!’ Merren thundered.

  Barrett strode into the palace with his head held high. The messenger had not said why he was needed, just that his presence was required immediately. He had barely seen Tiera since his foolish confession. They’d both been excessively polite to each other when they had met, and she’d still been helping him organise the wizards. Except now her help was restricted to making sure the assembled mages had enough to eat and drink. Things were progressing well and he should have been delighted. Instead, he felt empty inside. Why was he seemingly cursed to fall in love with the wrong woman, and then have his heart ripped out?

  He bowed to the Queen with a stiff dignity, making sure he ignored Martil completely, although he was able to smile at a waving Karia. But when Merren ordered everyone onto the roof, then pointed out the black clouds on the horizon, he felt his jaw drop open.

  ‘Your majesty, I did not sense any of this! If I had…’

  ‘Seems you were too busy with your new apprentice to fulfil your duties,’ Merren said grimly.

  Barrett almost choked.

  ‘It is not true, I have not laid a hand on Tiera!’ he protested, although the closeness of the accusation hit home, and he was horribly aware his usually sallow cheeks were flushed red.

  ‘I’m not interested in excuses,’ Merren snapped. ‘Can you stop this?’

  Frantically, Barrett closed his eyes, reaching out into the magic. He could barely believe he had not sensed this before. He knew he had been unable to think about much besides Tiera—it had been a huge effort to focus on the Guild work he was doing—but still…

  He almost quailed when he felt how strong the storm was. He had dispersed only one attempted storm before, the work of Gello’s crazed mage Tellite, and that had cost him dearly enough. He opened his eyes and did not know what to say.

  ‘Well?’ Merren demanded.

  ‘I will need every wizard in
the country to stop this,’ he said shakily. ‘And, even then…’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go!’ Merren cried.

  ‘I shall send word when we are ready to try,’ he promised, then ran.

  ‘He has never let us down before,’ Sendric said into the silence.

  ‘He has never faced something like this,’ Nott said solemnly. ‘We must have an alternative, if he is not successful.’

  ‘And what might that be?’ Merren asked acidly. ‘Get the dragon to fly thousands of people to safety? There is no alternative.’ She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘He has to break up that storm! We have no choice. It will all come down to this!’

  ‘There is one other option. We could bring the army together and try and stop the invaders,’ Nott said mildly.

  ‘All that would do is get thousands of men killed for nothing—there are too many of them!’ Martil protested.

  ‘Not if the Derthals joined us,’ Nott stated.

  Everyone stared at him.

  ‘We would still be outnumbered, but we would have a chance,’ he offered.

  ‘I think there is more chance of Barrett being able to break up this storm,’ Martil snorted. ‘Haven’t you been listening to the reports? The people have hardly made the Derthals welcome. I’m surprised Sacrax and his chiefs haven’t walked away before now.’

  ‘And look at what it took to get them to come down here and help us. What would we have to sign away to get them to fight for us? Would we end up living in the mountains, scratching a living in caves?’ Sendric jeered.

  ‘If we have to!’ Nott suddenly blazed, all traces of the quiet grandfather gone.

  Martil felt Karia hide behind him—and he was tempted to follow her.

  ‘Have you forgotten what we are fighting? Those are Fearpriests out there, getting ever closer! There is no price that should not be paid to defeat them. We cannot allow them to gain power here, to start raising their bloodstained pyramids to their foul God,’ Nott snarled. ‘We must be prepared to do anything, give up everything if we have to! Lives are not important if it means stopping their evil.’