The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do they teach you down in Rallora?’ Berne gasped in horror.

  Martil ground his teeth together. ‘Have you not heard of a little thing called the Ralloran Wars? Killed thousands of people over the past sixteen years? It kept us a little busy to study the legends of some sword in Norstalos.’ He paused, aware he was starting to lose control of his temper. But how could he explain what things had been like to an apple merchant? Never knowing if you were going to survive another day. Why would he care or even think about what was going on in another country?

  ‘Well, I shall tell you,’ Berne announced, settling himself comfortably. ‘Back in the days of King Riel, Norstalos was a country at siege. We had just begun exploring the north—and clashing with the goblins that lived there. The Tetrans were raiding across the border, the Berellians looked threatening and, worst of all, half the nobles refused to acknowledge the crown and pay taxes, instead raising private armies and ruling their own little fiefdoms. Then King Riel saved a dragon from being killed by the goblins and everything changed. The dragons gave him the magical Dragon Sword. Many claim it has the power to keep Norstalos at peace but I, for one, believe that to be incorrect. Rather its power is in inspiring other men to do what is right. Either way, the nobles joined Riel in punishing the goblins for their horrendous crime, the people rallied to the crown and we discovered rich farmlands and gold in the hills of the far north. Our prosperity was assured and, with it, our peace and safety. The King had money to raise a large army and pay it to keep us at peace. All because of the Dragon Sword. Riel died soon after but he passed on the rules of the Dragon Sword to his son…’

  ‘Yes, and I’m sure they are fascinating,’ Martil interrupted. As if he would ever need to know that! ‘Anyway, why are you all so worried about it? Your army is still the biggest around, nobody is going to invade you,’ he pointed out.

  ‘The trouble will not come from outside but inside the country. There wouldn’t be a problem if Duke Gello had drawn the Sword but it refused him; he’s got about as much chance of invoking the magical powers of the Dragon Sword as I have of sprouting wings.’

  ‘What’s magic?’ Karia asked into the sudden silence.

  Martil could see this becoming a long lunch. ‘That’s a question that would take too long to answer. Berne has to be on his way, and so do we,’ he said hastily.

  ‘Oh, I’ve got plenty of time. These apples aren’t truly ripe yet,’ Berne smiled.

  Despite Martil’s protestations, he began to describe in detail how magic worked. Martil remembered Father Nott saying something about Karia and magic, but he could not believe it. Being able to use magic was a rare gift. Perhaps one in a thousand people had the power and not all of them were able to do anything with it.

  ‘Magic is in all of us. It is the force that nurtures us, helps us grow and breathe and love and see. When something is born, a little bit of magic is used to make it come alive. As it grows it uses more magic, then its death releases the magic back into the world, where it is used to create something else. It is all a circle, a great circle. But magic-users, or wizards, or magicians, whatever you want to call them, they have a way of taking this raw magic and using it in different ways.’

  ‘How?’ Karia wanted to know.

  Berne smiled. ‘Magic is a natural force flowing around the world, which can do anything from causing the wind to blow to making this apple grow. You can learn to turn this to your use. Wizards study plants, weather, birds and animals, trying to see how they do things. Then they try and learn how to copy that, so they can make it happen through magic.’

  ‘How do you know so much?’ Karia asked, open-mouthed.

  ‘I once studied with a wizard. My parents thought I had some power, with my obsession with growing things, and of course I had been dreaming of dragons. But I never even made the First Circle.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pass your tests and you gain entry to the First Circle, then the Second Circle and so on, until you have reached the Ninth Circle.’

  ‘How long does that take?’ Karia asked.

  Can’t be any longer than this lunch, Martil thought to himself, stirring restlessly.

  ‘Oh, many never make it. To be admitted to the Seventh Circle is seen as a great honour. There are probably only three or four wizards in Norstalos who have attained the Ninth Circle. They can use magic in ways you’ve never even thought of, they can take a natural process they have seen happen in a rare plant, and replicate it with a human, or an animal. But it costs them. They have to give back in energy what they take in magic. If they use too much, or try to do too much when they are already tired, it can kill them. That is why there are some things, such as flying, which are impossible. They take too much energy. The magic must be replaced, and it will take their life force if that is necessary to keep the circle flowing smoothly. The circle is everything. Everything must die, and release its energy back into the circle to allow it to continue.’

  ‘Everything must die? Even dragons?’ Karia asked.

  ‘Well yes, even dragons. Nothing can break the circle. But I hope I never see the day when the dragons start to die! Aroaril knows what will happen then!’

  ‘But…’ Karia began.

  Martil recognised the danger signs. She was going to keep asking questions until nightfall. And Berne seemed happy enough to keep answering them.

  ‘We need to get going, and so does Berne. Thank you for lunch, and your stories, but if we don’t go soon, then we’ll never make the next village by nightfall. It’s slow going with a small child.’ Martil smiled apologetically at Berne.

  Despite Karia’s protests, and Berne’s offers to let them sleep under his wagon that night, Martil managed to get her onto Tomon and riding off, waving goodbye to Berne. But that small victory gave him little peace. All the questions she had wanted to ask Berne, she now asked him.

  Karia had always been fascinated by the thought of magic. Seeing Father Nott use the power of Aroaril to heal and help had sparked her interest, but for the past couple of years she had also dreamt of dragons. She loved those dreams. They always started the same. A dragon would come to greet her, although the dragons changed each night. Sometimes they were golden, and massive, sometimes lithe, small and green, and at other times were all different colours, with different voices. They would take her for a ride, swooping high into the air. It made her want to learn about magic. So now she eagerly grabbed the chance. Martil must know. He knew the answers to all her other questions.

  Martil struggled to answer. He had no idea how you used magic, or how you knew you could do magic, although he did know that the dragons were the guardians of magic, who made sure the circle of magic kept turning, that life kept being replenished.

  As for the elves, they were not the magical creatures of the sagas, but a race of men who served the dragons. Apparently, living so close to such strong magic for so long had changed their appearance, so their faces looked something like a dragon’s, leading to their comparison with the mythical beings that lived only in sagas.

  Karia had been bitterly disappointed about that.

  ‘But elves and fairies and goblins are real! They’re in all the sagas!’ she protested.

  ‘There’re no such things,’ Martil pointed out, as gently as he could. ‘They’re just in the sagas. What we call goblins are a race of men who look strange to us, what we call elves are a race of men affected by magic. There are no fairies or talking rabbits or anything of that sort. It’s just people making things up.’ He looked at her crestfallen expression and sighed. ‘How about we find a wizard somewhere who can tell you the full story?’ he suggested.

  ‘All right,’ she shrugged, disappointed she would not meet real elves.

  The village inn they stayed in that night was, if possible, even worse than others. The talk was the same, however. The Dragon Sword and the future.

  After much pestering by Karia, Martil asked the innkeeper if there was a wizard
in the area, so she could learn some more about magic.

  ‘A wizard? Here?’ The innkeeper, a skeletally thin man with a dripping nose, looked around the musty inn. ‘Folks around here can’t afford wizarding. You go and ask the priest, real nice, or you do without. Old Wood’s second son, Rush, he became a wizard. Went away to the big city to learn it, never came back.’

  Martil relayed the information to a less-than-pleased Karia but there was nothing he could do about it. Personally, he was getting frustrated with the farmers and their endless worries about the Dragon Sword, so he stayed in the room after putting Karia to bed. Of course, first he had to read her a story, about some silly princess who was stuck in a tower until a prince came to rescue her, then had to sing Karia his song about going to sleep. It worked, as far as putting her to sleep, although he still found she had a tendency to kick him in the middle of the night. By now he had accepted defeat in the partition of the bed, so when he woke up to find himself perched precariously on the edge, while she was snuggling into his back, he just left her there. But at least he wasn’t getting any more nightmares, while her early morning starts ensured they made good progress on the road.

  Martil noticed the countryside was changing, becoming more hilly, as the road curved gently around and met up with the main eastern trade route. He was fairly confident that Havrick would have given up the search by now, or found more useful things to do. Still, he kept an eye out, just in case. Anything to stop him doing what he really should have been doing—thinking about what was waiting for him in Thest. He could not rid himself of the compulsion that he had to go there, even now it had been revealed to be the stronghold of a bandit.

  Though they were now back travelling on the main road, this far east it was pretty quiet. The farmhouses around here were bigger, often built on the tops of hills, and surrounded by cleared ground. Instead of mud and thatch, or wood, these were built only of stone. Their windows looked more like arrow slits and they all had solid stone outhouses. Martil guessed they were enough to hold off a score of bandits for a night. There were few animals, and the crops seemed to be things such as turnips and carrots—vegetables that could not be stolen easily.

  He thought about things like that, because Karia was still full of questions. A few days ago he would have paid good gold for a little peace and quiet but now he was not only used to it, he was enjoying having her there, rather than being alone with his thoughts.

  Cezar knew Martil would not have travelled through Berellia. No, he would have gone through Aviland and up through eastern Norstalos. That meant Cezar could cut the corner and close the gap dramatically. Added to which, he guessed Martil was taking it easy, not pushing his horse, while he had no such qualms himself. He had four fast horses, and he was willing to ride all of them to death if it meant catching Martil. Norstalos was a big place but he was confident he could find his prey. Martil would be using the main roads, so all he had to do was ask if anyone remembered a Ralloran with two swords. A little gold—and the plausible story that the Ralloran was an old friend who owed him money—should provide him with information. And once he was close enough, he had no doubt as to the outcome. This Martil might claim to be the best bladesman on the continent but Cezar had no intention of fighting fairly. A dart in the back, a knife in the night, poison in his food or drink—either way, dead was dead.

  7

  The last village at the border had a high wooden wall around it, with men patrolling along the top and several on the gate. Like the farms around here, it seemed the local residents were rather wary of Danir. Martil did have a moment’s unease when he saw the militia on the gate, wondering if Havrick would have sent word on ahead. But the militia waved them through easily enough. At least the village inn was something to look forward to, much better than the ones they had ‘enjoyed’ on the way there. It had a separate dining room away from the bar, and the bedrooms were both large and clean. Martil dropped his bags on a table and looked out the window, towards Tetril. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, similar to the one he used to get before battle. Perhaps it’s because you’re planning to see a bloodthirsty bandit tomorrow and tell him you killed his brother and nephews, he thought. Then he thought more and realised, whatever happened to him, he did not want to see Karia end up with another Edil, who beat and abused her. She deserved more than that.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

  ‘Whether we should just turn around and not see your uncle tomorrow,’ he shrugged.

  ‘We’re seeing him tomorrow?’ Karia asked in horror. She had been enjoying this ride so much, and the thought of going back to what life had been like with her da made her feel sick. ‘I don’t want to see Uncle Danir! He’s going to be even meaner than Da! He’ll hate me, and he’ll kill you!’

  ‘Oh, he will, will he?’ Martil said grimly. Obviously Edil had told Karia what to expect when they arrived at Thest. She kept that quiet, he thought bitterly.

  She seemed to follow what he was thinking. ‘At first I wanted you to be punished, so I thought I’d let you bring me here and face Danir and his gang. Then when you wouldn’t let me stay with Father Nott, I hated you even more and wanted to see you hurt. But now…now I would rather stay with you than go to Uncle Danir. Don’t make me go there! Da was afraid of Danir. He only wanted to use him as revenge. He wouldn’t have cared about me. And if Da didn’t like Uncle Danir, I know I won’t.’

  Martil sat there, stunned. He simply had no idea what to do now. What had Father Nott seen? He racked his brain to remember the priest’s exact words. They had been ‘go to Thest’. Not, ‘head towards Thest and then go somewhere else when you learn the truth’. Why was it that old priests liked being so bloody mysterious? Couldn’t the man just tell him what was waiting there?

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me,’ Nott had said.

  But surely it could not be bad, because Nott would not want to put Karia in danger. So what was it?

  ‘Karia, do you trust Father Nott?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course. Why?’

  ‘Because he told me we had to go to Thest. He said it was very important.’

  Karia was less than impressed with this.

  ‘You’re trying to trick me. When we get there, you’ll just ride off and leave me.’ She crossed her arms and stared at him balefully. ‘I’m not happy.’

  Martil struggled to stop himself smiling at the expression on her face. ‘It is no trick. Perhaps Father Nott saw a proper family you can stay with. Surely you would like to play with other children rather than me.’

  ‘I like playing with you. And reading stories. And eating nice food. I bet they won’t do that. It’ll be like living in the forest again.’

  Martil reflected on her preference for life with him to life in the forest. It was something of a compliment, he supposed.

  ‘Father Nott wanted us to go there. He must know something. So we’ll see what’s there, but if you’re not happy, we will leave,’ if we still can, he added silently. ‘All right?’

  She was not convinced, but eventually agreed. After all, so far he had kept his promises. ‘All right. But if I’m not happy, I’ll let you know.’

  Martil held out his hand and she shook it solemnly.

  So now they would find out what the priest had seen.

  The innkeeper looked like an old soldier. He had a bristling grey moustache, a shaved head, a straight back and burly forearms. He introduced himself as Darry, shook hands in the warrior’s grip, and told Karia she was beautiful.

  The crowd in the dining room was also different from the usual flock of smelly farmers. There were quite a few merchants, and because this was bandit country, quite a few guards for the merchants. Martil had drawn back at first, because he could see almost all of them were Rallorans. It should not have been a surprise. When the King disbanded the regiments responsible for Bellic, it left thousands of men out of work who had known nothing but war in their adult lives. Some went back to their villages, but many had seen too
much, as Martil had, to pick up their old lives. But they had to eat, so a lot of them signed up as caravan guards in Norstalos, where the pay was good and the chances of action remote.

  As Martil walked past, he saw eyes widen in recognition, and two men, obviously well into their drinking, even saluted him.

  Innkeeper Darry seated them at a small table and pointed out the chalkboard menu on the wall.

  ‘Ralloran officer?’ he said quietly.

  ‘Aye,’ Martil agreed cautiously, not wanting to reveal too much.

  ‘Say no more,’ Darry winked.

  They ordered the roast chicken and vegetables, and while they were waiting, Martil looked around the room to see nearly a dozen of the militia over the far side, near the bar, drinking and laughing. He could not help but ask Darry, when the innkeeper returned with their food, why they were in here and not out patrolling.

  Darry sniffed and lowered his voice. ‘They know, with all the caravan guards here, that Danir would never strike at the village. So they sit here warm and safe and let the countryside suffer.’

  ‘Why do you put up with it?’ Surely a squadron of cavalry could lie in wait for Danir and end the bandit’s menace once and for all.

  ‘Never would have done years ago,’ Darry shrugged. ‘But in the past few years, the army has been interested in anything but protecting the farmers. They’ve got more important business now, they tell us. Too busy. Pah! In my day, we would have been down here with a few archers and some light cavalry, and had us a dead pack of bandits within a week. Last couple of years, Danir’s just got bolder and bolder, because we sit back and take it.’ Darry seemed about to say more, but was called away to serve some of the militia. He fixed a smile on his face and hurried over.

  For once, Karia did not ask what was going on, partly because she was busy eating, mainly because there was a table of loud Avishmen behind her, and she was a little intimidated by their noise. All through the meal, the Avish got louder and louder, swearing and laughing. Martil debated about asking Darry to move them, or request that the Avish be a little quieter, but could see that would only cause trouble for the inn. So he decided to go back to their room. They could always come back for dessert later.