by Duncan Lay
Not much of a jest, he knew, but when it failed to raise even a smile, he became concerned. Would the rest of the men be like this, also?
He was brooding not just about himself and Merren but also how to improve morale, when cheering made him look up. People had filled the battlements and towers of the city walls and now leaned down, waving and cheering and clapping.
‘Here they are! It’s the last of them! Our last soldiers!’ The shouts echoed around the city as thousands of people on the walls took it up.
Martil looked around wildly for a moment, before realising it was for his band. Obviously Merren had organised this to boost everyone’s spirits, for surely the people had seen plenty of soldiers coming in over the past few days—and they had certainly not done anything particularly special. Still, there was no harm in going with it…
‘Listen to that, lads! That’s why we’re fighting!’ He clapped men on the back, shook hands as he let them ride past him and into the city—and was delighted to see backs straighten, sergeants form men into tight lines and smiles back on faces.
‘Give them a wave! Let them know you appreciate it!’ he called.
They waved and the cheering redoubled. More crowds were lining the streets inside and Martil could feel a smile on his own face. It was over the top, the equal of any victory parade he had attended after the Ralloran Wars—for nothing more than a routine patrol. But perhaps the soldiers, and the people, needed it.
He let the last man ride in, then followed a moment later, waving to the crowd above. Inside, he could see Merren, as well as Sendric, Barrett, the Queen’s bard Romon, Nott, Conal and Karia waiting in the middle of the capital’s entry square, surrounded by even more people.
‘A welcome back to the last of our brave soldiers!’ Merren called, her voice being magically magnified, so it boomed across the city. ‘What we have done is a feat that will live forever in sagas! To get so many people to safety across so much country! Many said it was impossible, but it has been done!’
The cheering that followed would have drowned out even her magically enhanced voice, so she let it go on before waving for silence.
Martil knew the job was hardly done—there were three armies about to arrive at the gates. But it was probably best not to mention that.
‘Thanks to the courage you have all shown, we will face and defeat this monstrous attack on our country!’ Merren declared, to more cheers. ‘Together we have made a New Norstalos!’
She let the cheers go on for a long while before waving for silence.
‘Our gallant soldiers and our noble allies will destroy the threat that we face and we shall live in peace once more!’
But this time the cheering was distracted—particularly from the wall.
‘I can see the banners of King Gello!’ someone shouted.
Martil could feel the excitement drain out of the crowd.
‘My people, do not fear! We are safe here! They will never be able to break the Norstaline spirit!’ Merren called, and there was scattered cheering at this.
Martil began to ride over towards her, when he saw her signal for the gates to be closed.
‘We have the Dragon Sword! We have the dragons! And we have Aroaril Himself on our side! Trust in them and we shall emerge victorious!’ she bellowed, and this time the cheering was for real, although nothing like what it had been.
‘Now return to your homes, look after your children! Leave the walls to those who need to defend them!’
The people obviously saw the sense in this, and there was a general rush to get down from the walls and out of the square.
Martil did not like the sound of the gates closing. And he was even less happy when he got closer to Merren—something did not look right. He could tell she was hiding something.
‘What’s going on? Why are we closing the gates?’ he asked.
She offered him a brave smile but he could see the worry, the responsibility that she was carrying and trying not to show.
‘It seems Gello has us at his mercy. The Derthals haven’t arrived.’
Gello surveyed the city with satisfaction.
It had been an infuriating march, with frequent delays by Kay and his traitorous rangers. But now he was in the perfect position. His army had arrived first at the capital, with the threat of the Berellians and Tenochs looming close behind. Thanks to the constant reports he had been receiving from Prent, he knew the other two advances had been marked by atrocities on the people. The Norstalines would be thoroughly terrified of both the Berellians and Tenochs. His advance, on the other hand, had been positively benign in comparison. And he had collected nearly a hundred ordinary Norstalines who had not only professed their loyalty to him but were happy to show it to their countrymen.
This was his opportunity to revenge himself on his bitch of a cousin and teach the Berellians and Tenochs a lesson, all in one. Thanks to Merren’s attempts to get the people north, perhaps a third of the entire country was crammed into the capital. He could use them to turn the tables on Markuz and Onzalez, who had promised him help but had tricked him and were going to take his country. If he played this carefully, he would finish as ruler not just of Norstalos but of Berellia as well. Inside that city were thousands of men scared for the lives of their families. With a few threats and a little cunning, he could use them to destroy the Berellians and Tenochs, one at a time. Markuz and Onzalez thought he was just a puppet, a fool who was in their pocket. The last thing they would expect was for him to attack them suddenly.
This would go down in history as his greatest moment, the time when he turned defeat into stunning triumph. He could feel it. Mother had even looked impressed when he told her.
‘But where are the Derthals? I thought Sacrax said…’ Martil began.
‘They stopped to save a group of children,’ Merren said tiredly. ‘They are bringing them but it has slowed their advance. We can’t even guess where they are because Father Quiller’s last horse went lame, and he ordered them to go on without him. He is following as best he can, but thinks he is days away. As for the Derthals, he can only hazard a guess. They may arrive late tomorrow, they may arrive the day after.’
Martil did not know what to say. By late tomorrow the capital would be surrounded and the Derthals would never be able to reach them. He shook his head, barely able to believe it. ‘I am sorry. This is my fault. The Derthals were my idea…’
‘An idea I agreed to. No, it is my failure. I am the Queen. And I have doomed us all,’ she groaned. ‘The people hate me for it—I know they do!’
Martil was about to lean over and take her into his arms when a shout made him stop.
‘Your majesty! Gello is riding forwards under a flag of truce!’ a guard on the main gate shouted.
Merren looked into Martil’s eyes for a long moment, and sighed.
‘Then we need to go and meet him,’ she said.
‘We need to go and kill him. That will put an end to this,’ Sendric declared.
Merren shook her head. ‘It would do no good. Gello is not the real power now, the Fearpriests are. Even with him dead, they will still attack.’
‘So we just ride out and talk to him?’ Conal growled.
‘Yes,’ Merren agreed. ‘He is still Norstaline. If nothing else, I have to persuade him to guarantee the safety of these people.’
Gello waited, little more than a bowshot from the walls, with a hand-picked squad of men behind him, as well as Feld, Prent and several flag bearers. Excitement was bubbling inside him.
Then the gates opened and Merren rode out, flanked by Martil and a squad of what looked like men from every regiment she had, from Rallorans to rangers.
‘We could end this now, kill them all,’ Prent said eagerly.
‘No! I want my cousin to destroy everything she has created by ordering the people to fight for me. I want her to watch as the country truly becomes mine, as my power is ultimate. She shall watch as every peasant she has promoted to power is put to death and
then, finally, she will join them.’
Prent chuckled softly. ‘As you command, sire,’ he said.
Merren did not know how she would feel upon seeing her cousin again. This was the man who had abused and killed her friends, allied himself with Berellians and Tenochs and sworn himself to Zorva. The pain and suffering he had inflicted on her country was immeasurable. Yet she had to somehow persuade him to guarantee the safety of the people. She had no idea how.
‘My dear cousin! What a pleasure to see you,’ Gello called, then paused before adding: ‘Like this!’
Merren controlled herself with the greatest of difficulty.
‘Gello. What do you want?’ she said flatly.
‘Cousin! Why so rude? You should be nicer, when you realise that I have come to offer you everything you want,’ Gello said expansively.
Merren stared at him coldly. ‘If you plan to torment us, then we shall go now,’ she told him.
Gello sighed theatrically. ‘And miss my offer? Miss hearing how I plan to save this country from the Berellians and Tenochs?’
‘Those would be the same Berellians and Tenochs that you allied yourself with, the ones you have led into Norstalos and encouraged to rape, burn and kill?’ Merren asked sarcastically. Despite all the lives depending on her, she would not be made sport of by her cousin.
Gello’s smile vanished. ‘All right. No more games,’ he agreed. ‘The Berellians and Tenochs are not my allies. They have their own agenda. But they think me under their thumb. Here is my offer. My men to join with your Norstaline divisions. We are outnumbered but if we strike before the Berellians and Tenochs come together, we can crush them separately. Arm as many men in the city as you can, and Norstalos will be victorious! The people will be safe, they can return to their homes and will be able to live in peace once more. Look there—scores of loyal Norstalines who did not believe your stories about me, and who are safe and unharmed—and happy to be under my rule once more.’
‘And why would you help us?’ Merren asked. There had to be a price.
‘Simple. The Berellians plan to betray me. They were the ones who summoned the Tenochs from across the sea. I want to get my betrayal in first. By helping me, you save yourselves. For the Berellians will not be as merciful as I.’
‘And what do you want from this?’ Merren asked cautiously. She could see the possibilities in what he said. Between the men she had, the men she could arm in the city and Gello’s soldiers, they would have enough to crush one of the armies facing them. The second would then be forced to retreat, and could be destroyed on the way.
‘I shall be King. You and your officers will surrender to me. And that is not just your army officers but militia officers as well. All the town and village councils you have created will be disbanded, all power will rest with me. And this must be done before we join forces. Sad to say, but I am afraid I do not trust you to hold to an agreement after the Tenochs are destroyed.’
‘And what happens to the officers and their families?’ Merren demanded.
‘They will be imprisoned for a while. Perhaps a couple of years of working in the mines. I know you liked to impose that on my men…’
‘And what about me and my Rallorans? You said you only wanted to ally yourself with the Norstaline divisions?’ Martil asked harshly.
Gello shrugged. ‘You see my problem. I cannot have hundreds of veteran warriors who hate me and only serve my cousin loose in my country. While we are surprising the Tenochs, you shall lead your men out to face the Berellians. Destroying you is all King Markuz thinks about. He will not help his allies when he can see a thousand Butchers of Bellic ahead of him. And, by the time he kills you all, there will be far fewer Berellians for us to worry about. I would be disappointed if you did not take three times your number with you. But you can die knowing that you are helping to preserve Norstalos.’
‘Preserving it for you and your tame Fearpriest,’ Martil retorted.
‘I only seek to introduce freedom of religion. For too long the people of this country have been forced to worship Aroaril. I only want to give them a choice. Worshipping Zorva will not be compulsory.’ Gello smiled.
‘Leaving aside the truth of that, apart from the death of Martil and his men, what happens to me?’ Merren asked.
Gello grinned. ‘My dear cousin. We both know the penalty for treason. There will be a short trial, then you will be executed.’
‘I’ve heard enough of this. If you think we are going to agree to—’ Martil began hotly, but Merren touched him on the arm, and he subsided.
‘How about a counter-offer,’ Merren suggested. ‘Whatever else you might be, you are a son of Norstalos. Our forefathers devoted their lives to this country. So I ask you now, put aside what has gone before. Forgive and forget, and I will also. Join your men with mine and together we shall defeat the Berellians and Tenochs. You shall be restored to your duchy, with full powers and titles and together we shall rebuild this country. You can never take the throne but if the Dragon Sword prefers your son to mine, your descendants can be crowned. A full pardon and full restitution to every man who is with you. This is your chance to show you are a good man. Join us and history will forever remember you as the man who saved Norstalos!’
Gello looked at her carefully. He could feel the lure of her words—the man who had the power in his grasp and gave it up to save his country. He could almost hear the sagas being sung across the land. He saw that vision—and threw it away. He had not sworn his soul to Zorva for nothing. Why give up certain victory for uncertain peace? And do what? Sit in his ducal home and listen to peasants? Never command an army? Live always with the thought the Dragon Sword had refused him the right to the throne? Let down his mother, after all she had done to see him as ruler? Thoughts of his mother prompted the image of her final moments, as she fought for her life against him, and he shook that away from him, like a dog trying to rid itself of water.
‘No!’ he cried. ‘It is me who holds the power here. You cannot tell me what to do! Accept my offer or die at the hands of my allies!’
Merren took a deep breath. For a moment there, she’d thought he might have agreed. But she had another offer ready. She did not want to say it but she had to. Grasp the nettle, she thought.
‘I cannot accept seeing my men die. Here are my conditions. The Rallorans lay down their arms and armour and walk away. My officers also: they can take their families and leave the country, never to return to Norstalos.’
‘And let you go with them? I think not. I would see you back here at the head of an army of Ralloran mercenaries within a year and Norstalos would be back where it is now.’ Gello shook his head.
Merren stared at him. Inside she was cold, calm. It was all so clear to her. The people had depended on her. She had failed them. Many of them blamed her, rightly, for their losses. But there was one way she could save them, one way to make amends for all. ‘I would not go with them. There would be no possibility of me finding an army and returning if I agree to stand trial, and be executed,’ she stated.
‘No! It cannot be!’ Martil cried. ‘I won’t let you—’ but Merren turned on him.
‘Captain Martil! One more interruption from you and you shall be dismissed from my service. You swore to obey my orders: obey them now.’
If Martil had sworn on anything but Karia’s life, he would have broken his oath right then and there. As it was, it took every ounce of his self-control to say nothing. The only thing he clung to was the thought she was tricking Gello. She had always had a plan until now, surely she had something up her sleeve.
Merren knew Gello was not going to let her escape a second time. She should have been afraid; should have been thinking about the child she carried. Instead she was thinking about the thousands of people who waited back in the city. Terrified people, who wanted to see their children grow up in safety. If she was going to die anyway, she might as well do so in a good cause.
‘So what say you, cousin? You need us as much as
we need you. We fight together to defeat the Berellians and Tenochs, then the Rallorans and my officers walk away from Norstalos and you get the country upon my death. Do you accept those conditions?’
Gello scowled as he thought furiously. Was she trying to trick him? ‘But will your men obey my officers and me? They turned on me during the battle of Pilleth,’ he pointed out, to give himself time to think.
‘They will fight against the Berellians and Tenochs,’ Merren said coolly.
‘I want more. I want them to swear allegiance to me,’ he pressed. ‘I must have that guarantee before we seal this agreement.’
Merren sighed. ‘I will need time to speak to them. I cannot order men to swear allegiance. I shall have to ask them.’
‘You have two turns of the hourglass. If you want to save the country, you had better be back with your answer by then,’ he warned.
‘Agreed.’ Merren nodded.
The two groups turned their horses and began to ride away.
‘Sire, are you going to let the Rallorans just walk away?’ Prent hissed.
‘Of course not! Once they have laid down their weapons they shall be at our mercy!’
‘Brilliant, sire!’
Gello smiled. ‘I shall be left ruler of two countries, not one! And to think my idiot cousin wanted me to give that up, in exchange for a few lines in a saga!’
‘Merren, if you think I am going to sit back and let—’ Martil began hotly, but she waved him to silence.
‘I have a plan. We shall talk about it once we are back at the palace,’ Merren murmured.
Martil felt the tension leave his shoulders. She had a plan. Everything was going to be all right.
Merren watched him carefully, and breathed a sigh of relief he had believed her. She had no plan, beyond the one she had already put to Gello. Of course it was bitter almost beyond belief to think what Gello would do to the country. He would stop voting for town councils, stop the bards singing the truth, stop any hope of peace. He would build up the army once more, go back to his plan of taking over the continent. Then there was the Fearpriest with him. The source of their power was blood sacrifice—and the more they killed, the more they wanted to kill.
