by Duncan Lay
Martil, Merren and Karia were spellbound.
Then the Sword and the Egg, shrunk now to only the height of the Sword itself, simply vanished, exploding into a spray of golden sparks, much as Argurium had done when she had disappeared. But this time the sparks went in all directions, bathing all in their light.
The dragons chased them down, swallowing them, the sparks dancing inside them as they soared through the air.
‘The magic is back!’ Karia laughed.
‘We must hurry—we may be able to save Sendric and the other wounded,’ Milly cried, then she and Kesbury raced down the stairs.
A dragon, gold in colour and with what was unmistakeably a smile on its face swooped low above the Temple, landing lightly on the edge.
‘From the dragons, from all life on this planet, we thank you,’ it said gravely, its voice high and musical. ‘As Wielder, you may ask anything of us and we shall grant it.’
Merren nudged Martil. ‘Go on,’ she urged.
But Martil shook his head. He put his arms around Merren and Karia. ‘I have everything I need,’ he said simply.
The dragon bowed its head. ‘A good answer. But what about a gift for others?’
‘My wounded men’, Martil said immediately. ‘Save them.’
‘None of your men shall die, all shall be healed. And your trip home across the sea shall be both fast and safe,’ the dragon promised
‘Thank you,’ Martil said hoarsely.
‘Farewell, Wielder. This Dragon Sword is no more, for it has fulfilled its purpose. But we shall meet again.’
With that it flew away, soaring high into the sky, the other dragons close behind.
The Tenochs almost cried in disappointment to see them go.
‘Well,’ Karia said into the silence. ‘The dragons did say it was an easy task to complete.’
They laughed as they watched the dragons disappear into the distance.
‘They’ve gone but can we? What do we do about them?’ Martil pointed to the crowd below, which filled the square.
‘Leave them to me,’ Merren said confidently. ‘Karia, if you can help out my voice? Nerrin, bring the Fearpriests up here.’
While Martil and Karia ate, and tried to clean themselves up, the Tenochs listened as Merren told them they were free, that the Fearpriests would rule them no more. Those who had been brought here against their will could go home, carrying the treasures that had been stolen from them.
‘There will be no more sacrifices! No longer will you worship Zorva, no longer will you live in fear! I have freed you but I must return to my own land, so you can decide how you want to be ruled! Is Garas here?’
There was a pause before the Ayan that Milly had healed pushed himself forwards.
‘Do you have your people with you?’ she called down.
In answer, he waved behind him, and hundreds of Ayans, all dressed in green, fell to their knees.
‘You shall have food and gold to take back to your city. As shall all of you. You are free!’
For a moment there was silence, then the Ayans began cheering, followed by the rest of the crowd.
She let them continue, then waved for Nerrin and a squad of Rallorans to bring up the Fearpriests, with ropes magically sealed by Milly and Kesbury, so they could not break them.
‘And your first decision is what to do with those who ruled you by fear for so many years!’ She waved and Rallorans dragged the Fearpriests to the edge of the Temple roof, where all could see them.
Silence reigned over the square, as the city watched the hated Fearpriests, the men who had terrorised and ruled their lives since they had first drawn breath.
‘Kill them!’ Garas screamed.
Next moment they were all howling it.
Merren let them chant for the Fearpriests’ deaths for a moment longer, then signalled to Nerrin.
One push in the back and the Fearpriests fell from the top of the Temple.
Tenochs screamed with delight, horror and relief as the eight bodies bounced down the Temple before landing with sickening thuds on the square below.
As the echo of the last one falling died away, it was drowned out by cheering. The crowd was crying and laughing at the same time, embracing each other and waving delightedly up at Merren.
‘I think that takes care of them for now,’ she said decisively.
She signalled to Romon, who moved forwards and cleared his throat. The Tenochs were about to get a full performance from Norstalos’ finest bard, and discover a little bit more about the world around them. Whether it would do any good, she did not know. But surely it could not hurt.
Onzalez slipped through the crowd, forcing himself to grin like a madman and embrace total strangers. He had felt his powers return when the dragons had begun to fly and, when the guards were distracted by the amazing sights before them, had taken the opportunity to get over the wall and hide himself in the crowd. First he had to get away, then he could think of what to do next. How he could even begin to regain his power after what had happened here, he had no idea. But he still had followers in Berellia, as well as in other cities on this continent. And, as his father had liked to say, where there was life there was hope.
Martil spent time with his men, the ones he had saved and the ones who had saved him. They deserved much more than his thanks but it was all he could give them for now. Nerrin, Dunner, Ryder, Kay, Kettering—but he did not go near Sendric, or the weeping Barrett.
Barrett cradled Tiera, the tears streaming down his face. Now what would he do? She had been able to bring out the best in him. Without her, the bitterness and anger was swamping him. He could not bear to see that accursed Ralloran again. It was all his fault. The wounded men had been healed but not her. All because Martil had asked for men to be healed and the dragons had taken him literally. That bastard. Martil did not care because he had his happy ending, they all had a happy ending. All except him.
‘I’ll need to spend the rest of the day trying to finish up here. I’ll talk to the leaders of the various cities who want to go home, as well as those Tenochs who are happy to see the Fearpriests gone. Hopefully they can finish what we have begun, breaking the power of the Fearpriests. It feels like we are leaving the job half-done but there is too much waiting for us back home to stay here. At least we’ll have time together as we travel back to Norstalos for the grand wedding,’ Merren said, as they walked down the stairs back through the Temple.
‘Then I shall get a pony, and you’ll read to me every night, and we can play catch and dolls and…’ Karia added then drew a breath to continue.
‘But,’ Merren said firmly.
‘But what?’ Martil and Karia asked cautiously, looking at each other.
‘There are many problems waiting for us back at Norstalos. The country is still in a mess. Even with all the gold we shall bring back, it will be years before life gets back to normal. The people have only just accepted the Rallorans, let alone the Derthals. Aroaril knows we shall have many difficulties bringing them all together. We shall leave Tenoch in a mess, with Fearpriests no doubt still in many other cities. Yes, we have destroyed their Ruling Council and their army; their power is broken but who knows what could happen? And we have not even begun to talk about Berellia. On our southern border will be a country in chaos, one that also has Fearpriests running around. The Rallorans and Avish will probably want to exact revenge from that carcass—who knows what will become of Berellia. Then there is Sendric. He will live but we both know he does not want to see a base-born Ralloran on the throne. After his heroics, he will have won plenty of support from the men, as well. Finally there will be a prince arriving within a year, and how will our little Princess deal with that?’
Martil glanced over at Karia, whose brow was furrowed.
‘Are you talking about me?’ she asked suspiciously.
Merren smiled ruefully and went on. ‘There are years of problems right there—and we have not even got to the biggest problem of all—the Dragon S
word!’
‘Aroaril! The Dragon Sword!’ Martil stopped.
‘Exactly! It’s gone! The symbol not just of Kingship but of the country itself is destroyed—how is that going to go down in the backstreets of Wells and Worick, the farms of the north and south?’
‘But it has fulfilled its purpose, saved all their lives…’ Martil argued.
‘And they’ll accept its loss that easily, will they?’ Merren asked sceptically.
Martil hugged Karia.
‘So what are you saying, that I shouldn’t go back? I mean, given all that, I can understand why you can’t marry me—’
Merren grabbed him by the tunic and pulled him close to kiss him.
‘For a clever man, you can be remarkably stupid sometimes. I’m just warning you, this is not going to be a traditional saga ending, where we can say we shall all live happily ever after, with not a care in the world.’
‘Well, this isn’t a saga. Real life does not end so perfectly,’ he pointed out.
‘Exactly.’ She nodded. ‘So, are you prepared to be happy for now and see where we go from there?’
‘Well, that’s an ending I can live with.’ Martil grinned.
They looked at Karia, who had her head on the side, thinking about it.
‘Me too!’ She smiled and they embraced her.
And, for the first time, a child’s laughter echoed through the Temple.
Acknowledgements
The Dragon Sword Histories, and myself, owe a huge debt of thanks to the many wonderful people at HarperCollins, and elsewhere, who worked to improve the series.
Writing this trilogy has been an amazing experience but it has certainly not been my work alone. Many people have helped along the way.
I owe a debt of thanks to cover artist Les Petersen and cover designer Darren Holt for their attention-grabbing work; to copy editors Abigail Nathan and Kylie Mason for making sure my ideas were fully developed; to proof readers Ian Tonkin, Ron Buck and Kylie Mason for ensuring my many mistakes and talent for over-using certain words remains relatively hidden; to Jordan Weaver and Natalie Costa Bir; to Anne Reilly, to the HarperCollins sales staff and everyone else who had a hand in this—and most of all to Stephanie Smith, whose ideas, advice, encouragement and support made my dream possible.
About the Author
An interview with legendary US fantasy author Raymond E. Feist inspired Duncan Lay to begin writing fantasy, using the time spent on the train commuting between his Central Coast home, where he lives with his wife and two children, and his work at The Sunday Telegraph.
This is his third novel.
Talk to Duncan Lay at: duncanlay.blogspot.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Praise for Duncan Lay
‘Fast paced and dramatic, Lay writes the kind of battle scenes that I have not seen since the late David Gemmell, and booksellers should definitely be recommending this to his fans.’ Australian Bookseller and Publisher
‘This is even stronger than its predecessor, The Wounded Guardian, and features complex character development, gritty, realistic battles scenes and imaginative plot twists. Verdict: Highly enjoyable.’ Daily Telegraph
‘The Wounded Guardian promised so much in a debut novel and The Risen Queen follows it up with another engrossing read for fans of great epic fantasy.’ Booktopia
‘Isn’t it great when an accomplished new fantasy author comes along? This is an engrossing tale of a credible world. Can’t wait for the third and final volume!’ Aurealis Xpress
Praise for the Wounded Guardian
‘Heroism, romance, heartache, sex, violence, death and disappointment—The Wounded Guardian has it all in spades.’ Manly Daily
Books By Duncan Lay
THE DRAGON SWORD HISTORIES
The Wounded Guardian (1)
The Risen Queen (2)
The Radiant Child (3)
Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2010
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
www.harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Duncan Lay 2010
The right of Duncan Lay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Lay, Duncan.
The radiant child / Duncan Lay.
1st ed.
ISBN 978 0 732 28770 2 (pbk).
ISBN 978 0 730 49248 1 (epub)
Lay, Duncan. Dragon sword histories ; bk. 3.
A823.4
Cover design by Darren Holt, HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover illustration: Les Petersen
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