by Duncan Lay
Nott paused and Martil saw him struggle to contain his emotions.
‘Foolish pride. The decent men around here would not go near her. All thought she was too good just to work the fields. Instead, to my dismay, it was a roguish farmer called Edil who charmed her. You may not have seen that when you met him, but he could talk the birds out of the trees, had he the wish.’
Martil nodded. ‘I could see that. He spoke like no ordinary bandit, kept me talking even when I knew it was a trap. An inexperienced girl…’ he broke off as he realised he was about to talk about Nott’s adopted daughter.
But Nott just grunted his acknowledgement. ‘Then you understand. Against my better judgement, aye, and my wishes, they were married. He had tempted her with talk of silk and jewels, he had dazzled her with tales of Norstalos City. She wanted more than a village life. He promised her the world. What he gave her was a servant’s existence out at his farm, and a child who killed her, despite all my efforts.’
Nott stopped and took a sip of drink before he continued. ‘Mara, Karia’s mother, was made to keep working through her pregnancy. She nearly lost the child and I had to beg Aroaril to give me the power to save them. I thought my prayer had been granted but it was more subtle than that. You know of a priest’s powers?’
Martil nodded. ‘You can ask Aroaril for magic. If you and the request are worthy, Aroaril will grant you power to heal people, bring rain to dry fields, all sorts of things.’
‘So you did listen in church. But Aroaril works to a plan that none of us can imagine. He saved the mother, but only so He could save the child. Mara’s lifeforce brought Karia into the world but there was not enough left to save her.’
‘What nonsense is that, Father? Surely Aroaril can do anything He wants.’ Martil felt especially sensitive to stories of divine intervention. He had heard far too many tales that Aroaril was going to come down and save Rallora from the invading Berellians to put much stock in them.
‘One thing I have learned is that His plans are not for the likes of us to know. And they are mocked at your peril.’ His voice was mild but Nott’s steely gaze left Martil in no doubt this was a dangerous subject. Understandably enough, Martil thought. You watch the girl you raised as a daughter die giving birth to your granddaughter and the God you have served all your life refuses your pleas to save her.
Nott continued. ‘Of course Edil had no use for a baby on the farm. So she was left with me. Karia is a special girl. In my foolish pride—again! You would think I had learned—I boasted of her abilities, and word of it reached Edil’s ears. He wanted her back, for he thought she could help provide for him. He threatened to go to my bishop over it…I could not stand in his way, despite her tears. Now I see her here and I wonder if this was part of Aroaril’s plan.’
Martil could see the conversation going down a worrying road.
‘It seems to me that He was testing you and now the circle is complete, she is back in your care,’ he suggested.
‘It is not that simple,’ Nott said heavily. ‘You are no ordinary man. And you arrive today. An unusual child, an unusual man, bound together by a common purpose. But to what end?’
Martil could feel his temper rising but he quashed it ruthlessly.
‘Now look here, Father, I am no plaything of the Gods. I have seen too much death and pain on too many battlefields to think that there is some higher plan in all we do. Zorva’s balls, if I…’
‘How dare you?’ Nott snarled. ‘Never mention that name in my house!’
‘But that was just a harmless jest…’
Nott’s eyes flashed fire and he seemed to swell in anger. ‘There are no harmless jests concerning that foul God. Understand?’
Martil gulped. If he was going to persuade Nott to take on Karia, he had better not offend him. ‘My apologies, Father. It is a bad habit of mine, to make a joke like that. My friends and I used to laugh about it. I won’t let it happen again.’
Nott was breathing heavily, and his face had lost its colour. ‘To joke about the Dark One is to risk his attention. Believe me when I say you do not want that. It was his agents that seduced the Berellian King, and led to years of war and suffering down south. But at least you believe in that, don’t you?’
Martil smiled grimly. ‘I know all about it. I was there from the start. Part of the Ralloran army that went to help the Avish against the Berellian invasion, only to learn that it was a trap and the two of them intended to parcel us up. I was there when we were beaten, only to be saved when the arrogant Berellians turned on the Avish, wanting a bigger share of our country. I was there when we finally drove them out. And I was there when the Berellians broke the truce and we destroyed their city of Bellic so they could never rise against us again. Now I just want to buy a mansion on the coast, enjoy the sun and have the rich merchants fighting to marry their daughters off to me.’ Martil was aware he was letting his mouth run away with him and shut it, before he said something that would really offend the priest.
‘You have earned the right to peace. But if there is one thing I know, it is that we do not get what we want. We get what Aroaril knows we need. And what you both need is to go to Thest.’
Martil was horrified at the thought. ‘What I need, and what the girl needs, is for you to look after her or at least keep her until you can send word to her uncle Danir in Thest.’
Nott finished his drink and took a long moment before he looked up at Martil again.
‘I cannot do what you ask. Tomorrow is my eightieth birthday and, according to the rules of my order, I am to return to Norstalos City, there to live out the rest of my days in our Chapter House. My replacement will arrive here tomorrow, along with my bishop. Karia cannot stay here and she would not be allowed in the Chapter House.’
Martil fought to control his temper. ‘I suppose this is the purpose you were talking about.’
Nott smiled gently. ‘My son, I have done many strange things in my life but I can assure you that growing old to spite you is not one of them. Now, please listen to me. There are things happening in my country that disturb me. The priesthood has always stayed out of politics but that does not mean we are blind and deaf to events that are going on around us. Norstalos has a queen, for the first time in its history, who cannot use the Dragon Sword, for the dragons made it so only a man can draw it from its scabbard. No noble was judged worthy, which means until the Queen has a son, she needs a Champion to wield it on her behalf. The people have always believed that the Dragon Sword has magically protected this country and need the reassurance that its power is working to keep them safe.’ Nott held up a hand as Martil opened his mouth. ‘I know, it sounds unbelievable that a sword can somehow keep a country at peace. I am one of the few people who suspect this power of the Sword is more legend than reality. Nevertheless, most people believe it to be true, for we have not suffered the wars and invasions that have plagued every other country. If a lie is repeated often enough, then it becomes a kind of truth. Whether the Sword protects us or not, understand that unless there is someone in the palace holding that Sword soon, things will happen to change this peaceful country. When you leave here with Karia, there are many paths you can take. But there is only one that will not lead to your doom. You and Karia must go to Thest.’
Martil ignored that. ‘I came here because this country is supposed to be peaceful! What do you think will happen?’
Nott shrugged his shoulders. ‘I am not skilled in divination. But I do know there is a rising tide of fear and anger in this country, as well as resentment at a woman on the throne. And waiting in the wings is Duke Gello, who would have been King if the Dragon Sword had accepted him. He is known to be ambitious and ruthless. It is not hard to imagine what might happen if the Queen does not win the support of the people. However, we are talking about Thest. You must swear to me that you will both go there. For the sake of you both. Think of it as a second chance, an atonement.’
Martil snorted. ‘Atonement? Did you hear about Bellic
? I was one of the war captains that gave the final order to destroy the town.’
Nott sighed. ‘Aroaril has shown me your past. Of course, I knew about Bellic already, which is why I know the guilt is not yours alone. That is why they talk of the Butchers of Bellic. There were five of you.’
Martil felt his throat choke up but refused to let it stop him. There were things that needed to be said. ‘It has to be my guilt. I could have stopped them. We were deadlocked, two for sacking the town, two for starving them out. It was my vote that decided it. I let my anger get the better of me. And now I must live with what I did. A second chance? To give me a little girl to look after? How can that be weighed against the hundreds of dead children we left in Bellic? Someone above must be laughing at this.’
Nott stood with surprising swiftness and grabbed hold of Martil’s arm. ‘This is the last time I tell you. Do not mock what you cannot understand,’ he warned. His eyes, so blue and so knowing, bored into Martil’s. ‘Karia is not an ordinary girl. The intervention of Aroaril…When I say she is special, I do not mean she can perform counting tricks or amuse others. There is a power within her. Not the power that I get from Aroaril but magic, real magic that can form the world around her. That was why Edil wanted her back. He thought she could be turned into a magician that could bring him the riches he had always desired. So do not tell me she does not have a purpose. And so do you. A man haunted by the death of children has the opportunity to care for one. I see nothing funny in that. And I see Karia as my granddaughter. Would I let her go with someone who would hurt her? You are a better man than you think. One day you might even make a good man. So tell me, do you regret what happened at Bellic?’
Martil, trapped both by Nott’s gaze and his surprisingly strong grip, could not escape. Everything that he kept bottled up, that had exploded out of him when he killed Edil, overwhelmed him.
‘Of course,’ he said thickly. ‘I regret it with every breath.’
‘Do you? Do you really? Or do you just regret that it has meant you are no longer a hero?’
Martil glared up at him. ‘I never cared about being a hero! But I care about not being able to sleep for nightmares about Bellic! I care that my decision saw hundreds of women and children die, destroyed the lives of the men who followed my orders! I care that I must carry the guilt for the rest of my worthless life!’
Nott stared into his eyes, then nodded grimly. ‘If that is true, you must travel to Thest. Swear it, if you truly wish to repent. Swear!’
‘But I already have! I swore to Aroaril!’ Martil protested. ‘Back when I…I swore to her half-brother!’
‘Again! Swear to me!’
Martil could not look away. ‘I swear by Aroaril to take Karia to Thest,’ he gasped.
As he said the words, Nott’s hand on his arm grew suddenly warm for an instant. The priest stared into his eyes for a moment longer, before smiling.
‘Now you must hold to that oath. The path to your only chance of happiness leads there. Understand?’
He released Martil’s arm but did not move away. Martil managed to swallow again.
‘I’m not deaf, or stupid. You want me to go to Thest. Just tell me why!’
Nott snorted. ‘You would not believe me if I told you. But I can tell you that breaking that oath will lead to so much misery that Bellic will seem like a fond memory.’
Martil, thoroughly shaken by now, and overcome with guilt, simply nodded.
Nott passed a hand over his face and scrubbed at it wearily before looking back at Martil. ‘You should leave early. This parting will be hard on Karia. Get some sleep. Are you hungry?’
Caught off balance by Nott’s change of subject, Martil admitted he was, and Nott led the way into the kitchen, where he produced a plate of ham, and took off a pot lid to reveal turnips and swedes gently bubbling on the wood-fired stove.
‘Wash your plate once you have eaten. And you may sleep out here. I am going to bed,’ Nott announced. He seemed exhausted.
‘Is going to Thest really the only way for me?’ Martil tried one last time.
Nott sniffed. ‘Only if you want to rid yourself of your nightmares. Sleep well.’
Martil doubted that was going to happen, but said nothing. He deliberately did not think, just ate mechanically; the food was hardly tasty but to a man who had managed to stomach army rations for half his life, it was fine. He washed his plate in the deep sink, pumping the water in until it was clean, then looked out of the window to see Tomon in the paddock outside. It was like waking up. Part of him was saying he should just walk out now, saddle the horse and ride. He could leave gold on the table and let the priest fix the problem of Karia. But what then, the greater part of him said. Back to the drinking and the dreams? Hadn’t he sworn to change, then sworn an oath—twice!—that he would take Karia to Thest? What lay ahead in Thest? And what waited for him if he did not go? How had that priest managed to affect him so? He felt torn. Then, making a decision, he turned away from the window and the lure of a fast escape on Tomon. Yes, he wanted to run. Spending more time with Karia was not something he wanted to do. But he was desperate. After Bellic, after leaving Rallora, after the slaughter of Edil…things had to change. He found he liked the idea there was a path to happiness ahead. He would go to Thest and trust the old priest. He grabbed a cushion from a chair, a blanket from his bag and lay on the floor to sleep, hoping not to dream about Bellic.
3
The inn was almost shaking, the singing was so loud. Soldiers’ songs, all about marching, loved ones back home, and the girls who liked a man in uniform. Every night it was the same. Drink too much, sing, and then get into a fight. And it was all the man once known as War Captain Snithe had to look forward to these days. Once this had been his home village but then the war had come and what was a man to do but fight? Now it was the same village he remembered, but he was a different man to the one who had marched to war. Many of the villagers avoided him when they could. At first, almost all of them had respected him, even if he was tainted with the blood of Bellic. But now many were privately suggesting the militia be called in to keep him quiet and some were even calling for him to be kicked out.
He had consumed at least ten pints of ale and it was with great difficulty that he negotiated the narrow passage that led to the ramshackle wooden building over a deep cesspit. Once inside, he untied his trews with exaggerated care—then caught sight of a dark figure joining him.
‘Need a piss, too?’ he asked in a friendly way, but the figure just stepped in close and plunged a knife into his chest.
‘King Markuz hopes you rot for an eternity, Captain Snithe,’ Cezar hissed as Snithe choked and died. Swiftly he cut the man’s heart out as a trophy for Markuz, then dropped him into the cesspit. He knew there would be no shortage of suspects. It would take the local militia days to sort it out. Long enough for him to finish the job.
It seemed as if Martil had just closed his eyes when he felt someone shaking him. He had been having a dream about that last war council before Bellic. But in this one, the other captains were all covered in blood. Behind them sat the dead children of Bellic. His eyes snapped open to see Karia’s face a few inches from his own.
‘What!’ Martil gasped. He had not slept through someone approaching him for many years and the combination of that and his dream left his heart pounding.
‘Father Nott is still tired but he said you would get me some breakfast,’ she announced. She looked far better this morning, although no doubt the bath had a great deal to do with that. Her hair was even mostly brushed.
Martil looked out of the window to see it was just dawn. He rubbed his eyes and swallowed, his mouth feeling as though something foul had slept in it. He needed a drink of water, and then he needed something hot inside him.
‘What do you want to eat?’
‘What is there?’
Martil went to investigate and found Father Nott’s pantry rather bare. He suspected he and Karia had eaten most of the food
last night. The milk smelt off and the remaining bread was hard. He sawed thick hunks off the loaf, which he held close to the coals of the stove fire. Karia demanded a turn, and then polished off four slices of toasted bread, two with honey on, two with cheese on.
‘Thirsty now.’
So Martil had to leave his own toasted bread and hunt around until he found a stone jug half-full of apple juice. He poured out two goblets and was just sitting down again when she finished hers.
‘Can I make some for Father Nott now?’
With a sigh, Martil helped her prepare toast and juice for Father Nott. He was wondering if he would ever get a chance to eat himself. So he was heartily thankful when Father Nott’s door opened and the old priest stepped out, wrapping a woollen robe around himself. Karia also seemed thankful, as she ran over to hug him. Once he had made it to the kitchen table, Father Nott allowed Karia to scramble onto his lap.
‘What are we doing today?’ she asked.
Father Nott put down his slice of toast. ‘We are doing nothing. I have some people coming to visit me, and I have to pack. You will be leaving with Martil here.’
‘I’m taking you to your uncle Danir,’ Martil added hastily.
It took a moment for this to all sink in, then her face twisted in horror and she stared up at Father Nott. ‘You mean I can’t stay here?’
‘No, my dear. I can’t stay here, either. I am leaving to go back to my Chapter House, and another priest is coming to live here.’
‘But I want to stay with you! Why can’t I stay with you?’ she screamed and then burst into tears.
Nott tried, and failed, to soothe her.
‘I’m not going. You can’t make me!’
Martil felt he had had enough. ‘You can’t speak to the Father like that!’ he snapped.
‘Who asked you? You can’t make me do anything!’ she shrieked at him.
‘Martil! Please!’ Father Nott tried to step in but as far as Martil was concerned, this was a battle of wills that had to be won if he was to take her to her uncle’s home.
