by Duncan Lay
Martil took a deep breath then walked over to where the chiefs and Sacrax waited, looking at him suspiciously. He was confident: he just had to be honest and leave the rest to the Dragon Sword.
‘I am not a Norstaline! I am a Ralloran. My country lies far to the south. The Norstalines refused to help my country when it was attacked and they hate me and my men. They call us killers, and spit on us when we walk past,’ he told them. ‘Yet I fight for them and for their Queen. As do my men.’
This caused a stir among the Derthals, while he could also feel Merren’s eyes boring into him.
‘Why do you fight then, if they hate you?’ one chief, with a headband of what looked like black goat hair, demanded.
‘Because not all hate me. There are many good people among them. I fight for them, and for this Queen, who wants everyone to be treated as an equal. I fight for the idea that we can all live in peace. And I fight against my real enemies, who kill women and children, who want to make everyone bow down before their God, who demands blood, not prayer. I know what the Norstalines have done to you. But the men you saw me fight, the Berellians, they are even worse. I proved that they lie. They would kill you all.’
Martil strode along the front of the chiefs, Dragon Sword in hand.
‘I do not want to fight. Believe me when I say I fear this battle. But we have no choice. Either we fight or we die.’
He paused. ‘But we do not just fight because we must. We fight because the Norstalines need to see that they are not as wonderful as they think. They need to learn they attacked you and drove you out because of a lie. They must learn they are no better than everyone else. By helping them, by saving them, they will see this. They may never love you. But you will be able to live in peace with them. No more will your young ones cry of hunger, no more will your old ones weep for the cold.’
As he spoke, Martil was aware of the warmth of the Dragon Sword’s hilt under his hand.
‘Go back to the north and you might live for longer. But nothing will change. You will still be hated, still hunted and eventually you will be destroyed. This is your chance to change everything. Your only chance. So who is with me? Who will fight not just for the Norstaline but for their families and their tribe’s future?’
Whether it was his words, or the Sword, or both, he never knew. But the chanting started at the back, then spread to the front, then all of the chiefs were stamping their feet, spears in the air, hooting out their war cries.
‘We shall fight,’ Sacrax told them solemnly.
The stores that had been shipped out of towns and villages across the south, east and west, and brought to the capital on Conal’s orders days and sometimes weeks before, were needed now. The capital was damaged but it was still shelter, warmth and food to those who had none. Other stores, set up further along the road, had been spoiled by the rain, or simply washed away.
The rain had slackened off, now it was just an unending drizzle that added to the misery.
From the south, east and west, refugees struggled through the last few miles of road, often forced to leave wagons and carts that became bogged in the thick mud within sight of the city. Tired horses, mud caking their legs up to their bellies, struggled back and forth, trying to ferry children and supplies to the dubious safety of the city. Small wagons filled with sawdust tried to improve the road, but had a limited effect. The mud was thick and glutinous and wheels stuck fast, defying the efforts of tired men and animals to shift them.
The only option for most people was to take what they could carry and strike out across the soggy fields, which at best were only a little better than the roads.
From the north, those who had been heading for safety turned around, the way ahead impossibly blocked.
Columns of exhausted people struggled into the capital, where the residents opened their doors and welcomed them with food and drink.
Conal ordered the huge town homes of the nobility—almost all of them killed by Gello and his Fearpriests—to be opened, by sword if necessary. Mud-smeared farmers lay down on marble floors, while bleating goats and complaining chickens clattered around ballrooms and roosted on velvet curtains.
People lay wherever they could—and just one glance showed they could go no further. Already tired by days or weeks of travel, soaked to the bone by a storm the likes of which had never been seen in Norstalos, they had used their last reserves to make it here. Escape to the north was now impossible.
Luckily the rain had not been nearly as bad in the far north. The Derthals had to march as hard and fast as they could to reach the capital in time.
Merren and Martil waved them off as they headed south, under the leadership of Sacrax and accompanied by Quiller.
At first a trickle, then a flood of refugees and northerners came over to see them go.
‘What’s going on?’ someone asked, as the Derthals strode away, occasionally giving a roar of triumph at Martil, who held the Dragon Sword aloft.
‘Where are they going?’ another said.
‘Who cares? Good riddance, I say! Further away they get from me and mine, the better…’
‘Who said that?’ Merren whirled around, and the crowd, growing with every moment, went silent, where it had been rumbling with agreement.
‘They are marching south, to fight our enemies. If we are going to survive this, it will be because of the Derthals!’
Silence greeted her words.
‘Think about that. Despite all you have said to them, they are prepared to fight for us! They have rallied to the Dragon Sword, when Norstalines did not. If you and your children live, it will because they died for you! So perhaps next time you will not be so quick to judge!’
Merren had imagined a better response to her words than a sullen silence. Again came the nagging worry that the people thought her the cause of all their troubles.
‘Will the Derthals be able to fight properly? Will they follow orders?’ she whispered to Martil, as they waved to the last of the Derthals disappearing down the pass.
‘Well, they are used to operating together in the hunt. Often two or more tribes will work together to bring down deer or goats,’ Martil said confidently.
‘Yes, but were there 20,000 goats armed with swords?’ Merren asked pointedly.
‘No,’ Martil admitted. ‘What do you want me to say? This tactic has never been used before. But if you have a better idea…’
‘No,’ she sighed.
‘Your majesty, what now?’ Gratt asked politely.
She turned, to see he had made his way through the people to her side. She noticed, over his shoulder, that the people were muttering and glancing over towards her, and towards the Derthals marching off into the distance.
She sighed. She could imagine what they were saying: this would never have happened under Gello.
‘Captain Martil and I shall have to return as soon as possible. Refugees will still come in, although slowly now. Take care of them. But you should get together as many men as you can, in case things go badly for us. You are a brave man and a loyal one. I wish I could give you more comfort but either we win, or we die.’
Gratt fell to one knee. ‘Your majesty, thank you for everything,’ he said hoarsely. ‘The people may not see it now but even if we die, to have tasted the life we have had over the past few months…the sagas tell us it is better to die on our feet than live on our knees. I never believed that before now.’
Merren reached out and raised Gratt gently to his feet, before kissing his forehead.
‘Good luck and my blessing. It is for men such as you that we fight.’ She smiled.
Barrett was exhausted. In fact all the assembled wizards were exhausted. A night of trying to reduce the storm, after failing to block it, had been nightmarish. They had managed to protect Barrett’s house but had been unable to do much else. Rest, food and drink had them back on their feet—but all still felt the harsh pain of failure. The Queen, the country had depended on them—and they had let everyone down
.
But while that hurt, Barrett found it difficult to keep the smile off his face. Tiera was the reason of course. He had been so sure that he had made a fool of himself—again—only for her to bring him back from the brink and declare she returned his feelings.
They had not spent the night together—partly because the ghost of Prent still lingered there—and partly because he was truly exhausted. But they had talked—as equals, not as teacher and student.
She had left to find more food for the assembled mages, while he thought he might relax, and read. However, most of the other mages were in his library already, lying on couches or sunk into chairs, talking quietly or reading or dozing. Barrett thought he might be able to slip out quietly—but they spotted him. One plump mage—whose voluminous robes now hung loosely on his slimmer frame—hurried over. Barrett recognised him as Fernal, who normally added the title ‘The Great’ to his name but in this company had wisely decided to drop that. He was one of the more talkative wizards, quick to raise questions about the working of the Guild and, although not one of the most talented, the leading wizard from the large eastern town of Wollin.
‘Barrett! What are we going to do now?’ he demanded.
‘What do you mean?’ Barrett sat down in an empty chair and watched Fernal flop into the facing one.
‘Well, the first act of our new Guild was hardly a success now, was it? And the country is in trouble because of it. Some of the others think we might be better off down in Rallora, or Aviland. The Berellians do not have much of a reputation for treating people well and Gello has something of a long memory for those who have displeased him.’
Barrett stared at him. He really did not have the energy for this—but was spared the need to argue by Tiera’s return, as she burst into the library and almost knocked over a pair of wizards. ‘Barrett!’
He surged to his feet, tiredness forgotten. ‘What is it?’
She rushed to his side. ‘The city’s filling with people. Everyone who left in the last few days is trying to get back and all the refugees are making their way here. The people say the goblins are coming down to help us make a stand outside the city.’
Everyone tried to talk at the same time and Barrett had to shout to get them to calm down.
‘That’s settled it then,’ Fernal said into the silence. ‘We have to get out of here. The army will be crushed and then the Berellians’ll kill everyone they find!’
Cries of agreement took even longer to quiet down.
‘We have to think about this. The Queen will not have taken this step lightly,’ Barrett said heavily.
‘We shouldn’t think, we should act!’ Tiera shouted.
Everyone turned to stare at her.
‘There’re people out there suffering. You should see the ones coming into the city! Covered in mud, soaking wet, children crying…they only have the clothes on their backs, and those are filthy. We need to get out there and help them.’
‘But we’re all tired,’ someone protested.
‘Aye, and they’ll hate us. We couldn’t stop the storm and now look what’s happened!’ Fernal protested.
‘And what is the point of helping those who are doomed anyway?’ someone offered.
‘Aye,’ Fernal nodded. ‘This Guild did what it could but it failed, now is the time to look after ourselves.’
Nods of agreement and mutters greeted his statement.
‘My friends!’ Barrett appealed.
‘It’s too late. Don’t you see?’ Fernal said sadly.
Barrett did not know what to say to convince them, then Tiera stepped forwards.
‘What were you all talking about when we decided to form a Magicians’ Guild? We complain that nobody likes us, that they think we are selfish, money-hungry and arrogant—and then we prove them right by not helping in their time of need! We need to get out there and do what we can.’
‘Like what?’ Fernal demanded.
‘Can we do anything about the roads?’
‘Turn mud into hard earth again? It can be done but the best of us could only manage a mile or so before we became exhausted,’ Fernal said doubtfully.
‘It’s better than nothing. People will die if we don’t help them!’
Her words lashed at them, and few could meet her gaze.
‘Get people back here safely, help save them from the pursuing Berellians and Tenochs, and the Queen will thank you and the people will love you!’ She looked around the room. ‘I do not have much control over my power but I shall do what I can,’ she swore.
Barrett had been watching her, transfixed, but now he turned his attention to the rest of the room. ‘She’s right,’ he declared. ‘Who’s with us?’
Nods and smiles greeted his words. Fernal, who was up the front, was also looking around the room and he seemed to come to the same conclusion.
‘We all are.’ He grinned.
Merren held Martil’s arm as they prepared to get back on Argurium.
‘Thank you for what you did,’ she said softly. ‘We have a chance now.’
A few days ago she would have been happy never to speak to him again. But the way her mind had jumped to Martil when it seemed there was no hope made her think anew about how she felt about him. ‘Listen, if anything were to…happen…I would care for Karia. She would be raised as mine,’ she promised.
‘Merren, why are we denying ourselves? We should be together. We both know it is right,’ he told her softly. ‘Your words prove that!’
‘My words prove nothing,’ she fired back, knowing full well she was lying. ‘I have sworn not to think about this until everyone is safe!’
‘Not thinking about you is impossible for me!’ he protested. ‘Can’t you just—’
‘No. Enough!’ she snapped. She could not deal with this now, not on top of everything else. ‘Havell, are you ready to go?’
Martil watched her walk away with mounting frustration.
10
Merren shivered as she walked into the palace throne room but forced a smile for the benefit of everyone who was waiting there. The glass had been swept up beside the wall and wood placed over the cracked panes but it was still chilly; although not as cold as the atmosphere between Martil and herself on the flight south.
‘So, the rain seems to be much lighter now?’
‘Indeed, your majesty,’ Nott agreed. He had been looking after Karia, who had run across to hug Martil. ‘It should stop in the next few days. But there is little prospect of sun.’
‘Well, the Derthals have agreed to fight with us, and are marching south now, as fast as they can. It is relatively flat and open all the way from the passes, so they should make good time.’
‘Hopefully they have as much time as possible. We have been labouring all day to bring people into the city, from both north and south, but it has been hard work. The mages, led by Barrett, have been helping immensely. They have improved the roads for several miles, while they have been bringing in people trapped to the north through the oak trees in the park.’
‘We stand ready to do whatever we can,’ Barrett announced, still looking drawn, his eyes deeply shadowed. ‘Luckily I spent that time creating the Magicians’ Guild, otherwise we would not be able to offer so much.’
Merren nodded, although she was tempted to point out none of this would be necessary if Barrett had not been distracted by creating his Guild.
‘I shall go out on Argurium again from tomorrow. We have done well but we must get as many back here as possible, ready for when the Derthals arrive.’
‘Your majesty, if I may. Why are we even bothering with these gob…Derthals?’ Sendric said disdainfully. ‘They have no discipline. We cannot depend on them. Surely our best hope is to man the walls with everyone and everything we have…’
‘We have been over this, time and again!’ Merren snapped. ‘These walls will not hold! It would be a death sentence for every man, woman and child inside the walls. If we lose on the field, there is still the hope Gello w
ill at least spare most of them.’
That silenced everyone, instantly.
‘Meanwhile, we shall ask everyone to help take in these poor people, try to feed and clothe them. And we shall all set an example. Open up every spare room we have. And any spare clothing from the palace should be distributed. Archbishop Nott, are you able to handle that?’
‘Of course, your majesty.’
‘Good. Perhaps this will be a valuable lesson for the people,’ she suggested.
‘As long as we’re around to pass it on,’ Conal offered.
The weak jest was still enough to raise a smile and she nodded at Conal in appreciation.
‘What are we waiting for?’ she asked, and chairs scraped all around the table as people hurried off.
Over the next few days, the wizards worked on the roads leading south, west and east, while Conal’s militia harnessed tired horses to drag wagons off the roads, then laid logs and sawdust, so that the refugees could at least slog their way through the cloying mud and reach the capital. Meanwhile, a seemingly endless procession of muddy, bedraggled people, many of them sickening, were brought into the capital through the oak trees in the park. There they were greeted with a strange variety of clothes, as well as food and hot drinks. Animals were herded over to a series of crudely fenced fields, while people were directed towards churches or the big houses of the rich, where they could fill up the endless bedrooms. The only one that was left empty was Gello’s massive home, for fear of reprisals.
The rain slowly died away but the sky stayed overcast and sullen, and pools of water just sat in the middle of the road and on the verge. Any wagon that tried to leave the road just carved huge furrows in the soft grass before eventually becoming bogged. Herds of animals, as well as hundreds of people, wagons and carts rumbled into the city from the south and the east. The northern road was just too much to attempt—there were not enough wizards, men and horses, or time. Wagons and carts littered that road as far as the eye could see—and far beyond. The people and some of the animals could be rescued but everything else would have to wait.
