The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  Intrigued, Martil looked again at the man. His hands were delicate and long-fingered but his face, while relatively young, showed stress and worry in every line. He was also quite pale, as if he had spent a great deal of time indoors.

  ‘A wizard!’ Karia squealed. ‘Can we go and talk to him about magic? You said we could find a wizard and ask him!’

  Martil reflected there was nothing wrong with her memory. Plenty had happened since that lunch with the merchant Berne, but to her it might as well have been earlier that day.

  ‘He hasn’t finished eating,’ he temporised. But he knew it was going to be futile to try to stop her. Perhaps if he offered to buy the wizard a few drinks, he would consent to talk.

  ‘Why has he eaten so much?’ Karia asked.

  ‘Probably because he has cast magic recently—it takes a great deal of energy,’ Martil guessed.

  She nodded and almost bounced up and down in her seat. ‘He’s finished!’

  She grabbed his hand and almost dragged him over to the wizard’s table, then was struck by her usual bout of shyness and hid behind Martil’s leg.

  ‘Excuse me. I am Martil and this is Karia. She would love to learn more about magic and—once she gets over her shyness—she’d have a thousand questions for you. May I buy you a drink and talk with you?’

  The wizard looked up and Martil kept a warm, friendly expression on his face. The wizard glanced at them.

  ‘No. Go away,’ he said coldly.

  Martil’s smile dropped away instantly and he had to make an effort to control his anger.

  ‘I asked you politely. And I thought you wizards had a duty to spread the knowledge of magic,’ he snapped.

  At this the wizard’s face darkened with anger.

  ‘Do not speak to me of duty! I am on a mission of the highest importance! Now leave me be, peasant, or I might decide to give you an extra nose—right above your arse!’

  Martil struggled to resist the temptation to punch the wizard and then shove his staff up, as the Ralloran expression went, where the sun never shone. He heard the inn door open and people walking in but his back was to the door and his attention was focused on the wizard.

  ‘Before you reached your staff, I’d have your hands lying on the floor. And how would you cast your magics then, eh?’ Martil growled, but became aware the threat was being spoiled because the wizard’s eyes were focused on a point behind him.

  He was tempted to turn around but had seen men fall for that old trick before and finish up with their guts ripped out.

  ‘Move out of the way, peasant! We shall take care of this errant wizard for you. Stand aside, for soldiers of Norstalos,’ a strangely familiar voice said behind him.

  ‘What business have you with the Queen’s Magician?’ the wizard asked coldly, again looking past Martil.

  ‘There is a warrant for your arrest, signed by the new regent, Duke Gello himself,’ the voice announced proudly.

  ‘I do not acknowledge the authority of Gello. And how could you know it was an arrest warrant? Gello’s dogs usually can’t read and write,’ the wizard sniffed contemptuously.

  ‘You’re going back to Norstalos City trussed like a chicken!’ the voice threatened, then roared at Martil. ‘Move out of the way, peasant!’

  Martil had stood still, firstly shocked he had been about to pick a fight with the Queen’s Magician, the most powerful wizard in the country, and secondly because he was trying to think where he had heard that voice before. He sensed, rather than saw, a hand moving to shove him aside, so he stepped back and around, keeping himself between the speaker and Karia—and looked into the flushed and angry face of Lieutenant Havrick of the Norstaline Light Cavalry.

  ‘You!’ Havrick screeched, staggering backwards. He stared from Martil to the wizard and back again, then his face twisted into a wild smile. ‘It all becomes clear now! Plotting treason with the Queen’s Magician, were you! Well, you’ll hang beside the other traitors!’

  Martil was horribly aware that Havrick was unlikely to listen to reason at this point. Still, he had to try.

  ‘Look, this is all a mistake. I was just passing through and merely tried to ask a question of the wizard. We have nothing in common and had you not arrived, we might have come to blows,’ Martil said reasonably.

  ‘A likely story!’ Havrick sneered. ‘Do you expect me to believe it is mere coincidence that you, a man who is prepared to draw a sword on an officer of the crown, just happened to meet up with the Queen’s Magician, Barrett, a wanted man? That you were not plotting treason? You probably have the Dragon Sword up in your room!’

  In the deep silence that followed, Martil forced a weak laugh. ‘Very amusing. But as I am a Ralloran, I do not see how I can commit treason in Norstalos.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to find out,’ Havrick sneered. He was jubilant. He had searched the southern roads for this Ralloran for two days, before being ordered to rush here as part of a massive hunt for Barrett the wizard. Now revenge was at hand.

  Martil’s anger, that had threatened to bubble over against Barrett, now surged to the surface again. His swords flashed into the air.

  ‘Come and take me, you bastard!’ he snarled.

  ‘This is your last chance,’ Havrick warned, but took a pace back so his men were with him.

  Martil hoped the wizard was going to do something but the man just sat there, a small smile on his face, as if he found it amusing that his two tormentors had turned on each other.

  Havrick glanced left and right. He knew, after that incident on the road, that he had to do something to regain his reputation. Now he saw his chance to redeem himself. Capture these two and all would be forgiven. This was obviously some plot. Unmasking it might bring a reward from the Duke!

  ‘This is for my sword!’ Havrick screamed and lunged at Martil.

  Without thinking about it, Martil blocked the blow, then stepped in and hammered the hilt of his right-hand sword into Havrick’s face. The officer’s nose broke with a crack, he went one way and his sword went flying the other.

  The other five soldiers tried to rush in but the tables and chairs obstructed their progress. Martil blocked one blow, then managed to strike a second soldier in the face with the pommel of his left-hand sword. This time it caught the man on the point of his jaw and he went down like a poleaxed steer, tripping another man behind him.

  Martil jumped in and kicked the man who had tripped in the head; the soldier’s head snapped back and rammed into a table. The other three soldiers slowly circled around, trying to find a clear way to get at Martil. For his part, Martil prepared to kick a chair into the path of one, and then kill the other two.

  Then the wizard stood, his staff in his hand. He murmured something, and then pointed at the closest two soldiers. A flash of light brighter than the sun leapt from his free hand, the one not holding the staff, and struck the two men in the face. Blinded, they dropped their swords and clutched at their eyes, screaming.

  The last soldier edged back towards the bar, suddenly outnumbered. Conal, who was sitting at the bar, measured his approach, then brought his metal tankard of ale down on the man’s head. The soldier went down like a sack of turnips and the ale flew everywhere.

  Conal looked at it mournfully. ‘That’s one ale I’ll never see again,’ he sighed.

  Martil ignored him and instead turned to Barrett. ‘I thank you for your help,’ he said warmly. As always after a fight, the anger was gone.

  ‘And I thank you for yours,’ the wizard grunted, leaning on his staff for support.

  Martil paused then, unsure of what to do now. Attacking the soldiers had given him a whole new range of problems. For a start, he would not be able to sleep here tonight. And what would the militia do? There were enough of them at this post to create plenty of trouble.

  ‘We should go. The blindness will not last much longer, and then you will have to fight again,’ Barrett warned. ‘I don’t want to do that.’

  Martil agreed. He scooped up
Karia and ran for the stairs.

  ‘Leave your bags! We don’t have time!’ Barrett snapped, but Martil ignored him. Karia was clinging to him, and he had to fumble for the key before he got in the room and grabbed the heavy saddlebags with his free hand. He raced out the back to the stables, where Conal was trying to saddle his donkey and Barrett was leading out a black horse with a cavalry saddle.

  ‘You should have left those. We can get supplies and bags from anywhere,’ Barrett told him.

  ‘Not ones like these,’ Martil told him, putting down both bags and child to saddle Tomon.

  Saddling a horse was a job he had done countless times, but the knowledge a dozen militia might turn up, urged to violence by Havrick, was enough to make the job suddenly far more difficult and frustrating. The buckles would not work properly and Tomon kept shifting around. Martil had to bite his tongue to stop swearing.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Karia asked, picking up his mood and feeling afraid.

  ‘Somewhere safe. I’ll lead you there,’ Barrett said reassuringly.

  Finally he was ready and they rode out of the inn’s yard, Barrett leading the way, Conal’s donkey going as fast as its little legs could carry it, Karia riding with Martil.

  ‘Slow down now,’ Conal urged as they came up to the village gate.

  ‘What?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘It’ll look more natural and they won’t try to stop us,’ Conal explained.

  The gate guard was a pair of militia, and sure enough they barely looked up from their fire as the men and child rode out at a gentle pace. It was a smart move but going so slow was amazingly frustrating.

  ‘Time to speed up a little, I think,’ Barrett said quietly.

  Just then the feared cry came: ‘After them!’

  Martil looked back to see Havrick and a dozen militia at the gate. But none had horses and, luckily, none had a bow. They were milling around while Havrick was ordering them to fetch their horses and chase after the fugitives. He urged Tomon into a trot and they disappeared around a bend while the militia were still in disarray.

  ‘They can’t catch us,’ he said confidently, then looked over at Conal, who had to work hard to make Noxie keep up with them. ‘Although they might, if it’s a long chase.’

  ‘Not far to go,’ Barrett said.

  In fact they rode barely a mile up the road before they came to a side track, obviously rarely used.

  ‘In here,’ Barrett urged.

  As soon as Conal was safely off the road, and they were all a few yards up the track, Barrett turned back and gestured at the road. Instantly the hoofprints disappeared from the ground, grass grew over the bare dirt and the bushes expanded to block the track and make it appear as if there was nothing there.

  He led them about a mile up the track, which twisted and turned and rose slightly, until they arrived at a large cabin. By then the wizard was slumped over his horse’s neck. He reached out and the cabin door, which had no handle, swung open.

  ‘Safe here. Wake me in morning,’ he mumbled, then slid off his horse into an ungainly heap.

  Conal took care of the horses while Martil carried Karia, the wizard, and then the supplies into the hut. It was surprisingly clean and comfortable, with a pair of beds along one wall, a large table with chairs in the centre and various cupboards surrounding a fireplace and a small stove along the facing wall. It smelt fresh and clean, with a hint of lavender. Martil dropped the wizard onto one bed, put an excited Karia into the other and then got a fire going. He was just thinking about what to do next when Conal walked in.

  ‘I know we’re back from the road, and the track is hidden, but what if they smell the smoke?’ Conal warned.

  Martil cursed and put the fire out. ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘Aye, well, I had to dodge pursuit once or twice in my earlier career,’ Conal admitted.

  ‘Your earlier career? What do you do now?’ Martil laughed.

  ‘Why, I’m a hero now. Rescuing wizards, fighting soldiers. All in a day’s work now.’

  Martil ignored him and dug out a couple of oil lanterns, which would supply light without smoke.

  ‘What happens now?’ Conal wanted to know.

  ‘Well, we wait for him to wake up. If he is the Queen’s Magician, then he can certainly help us get to the Queen,’ Martil pointed out.

  ‘Or land us in a dungeon. One day of being respectable and I’m on the run again!’

  ‘Look at it from my point of view,’ Martil told him. ‘I was heading north to find some peace and buy myself a little place by the water. Now I have the entire army of a ruthless usurper after me, and all I have to help me is a little girl obsessed with making me play dolls, a magical Sword that will kill me if I’m not careful, a sleepy wizard and a one-armed ex-bandit.’

  ‘You are one lucky bastard,’ Conal told him.

  They fell silent, then Karia sat up in bed.

  ‘Can you sing to me? A different song this time. I’m bored with the other one.’

  Martil sat on the bed beside her and tried to think of something to sing. Nothing was coming to him, so he just made lines up.

  ‘Time to sleep, close those weary eyes,

  Time for dreams, after lullabies.

  We’ll see you when the night is done

  We’ll see you when it’s light

  Rest now, Karia, beautiful one, sweet dreams be yours tonight.

  Sweet dreams be yours tonight, my dear,

  We’ll see you when the morning’s here.

  So close your eyes and go to sleep, good night, sleep tight.’

  Martil was pleasantly surprised to find he had actually made up a bit of a rhyme, and even more surprised to find it had worked and Karia had fallen asleep.

  He turned to see Conal looking at him with a strange expression on his face.

  ‘What’s the matter? Haven’t you heard out-of-tune singing before?’ Martil almost growled.

  Conal took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I used to sing my kids to sleep,’ he finally admitted.

  ‘Where are they?’

  Conal hesitated before replying. It was not a story he was proud of, but after so many years, he found he now wanted to tell it to someone. It was strange, it was almost a compulsion.

  ‘I was a militia sergeant. Small village. Then my girls and my wife came down with the fever. The nearest apothecary was a day’s ride away and they needed help immediately. So I called in the local priest. Bastard said he wouldn’t do anything unless I paid him in gold! He knew I didn’t have any. Militia sergeant doesn’t pay much, you know. Course I knew where to lay my hands on some gold. So I used my sword to get me some. Priest said it wasn’t enough, so I stole some more. The bastard still wouldn’t help but when I had my sword halfway up his cassock he explained quickly enough. Seems he wasn’t much of a priest, so Aroaril wasn’t granting his prayers. Instead of telling anyone, he thought he could just demand gold for healing, knowing nobody could come up with gold, so he’d never have to come up with the healing. So I took the gold back and planned to find a real priest.’ Conal paused for a few seconds, then wiped his face with his only hand. ‘Only when I got home, my wife and kids were dead. My two militiamen found me blubbering over their bodies. I thought they had come to help me but the priest had claimed I’d robbed him. They had come to arrest me. I looked up from the bodies of my girls to see that smug bastard laughing at me. So I stood with my sword in my hand and in moments there were three bodies to add to those of my wife and daughters. In one instant I had gone from a respected militia sergeant to a murderer and thief. No going back from there. So I took to the road and spent the next twenty years getting drunk, hitting people and stealing what I needed to survive.’

  ‘So why didn’t you stop?’ Martil found himself asking.

  ‘Because I didn’t care if I lived or died.’

  That resonated with Martil and he looked anew at the old bandit.

  ‘So why are you here now? You could have left us at Thest, or just sa
t at the bar when those soldiers tried to arrest me.’

  Conal shrugged. ‘Wish I knew. I had a feeling I should go with you and the girl. Wasn’t like I had much to stay for.’

  ‘Is that it?’ Martil asked, disappointed.

  ‘And once I started, I thought maybe this was a chance to make up for some of what I’ve done in the past,’ Conal said softly.

  Martil shuddered. ‘You can never make up for some things,’ he said, mostly to himself.

  ‘Aye, but that’s no reason not to try.’ Conal coughed guiltily. He felt as though he had taken a burden off his shoulders. But that was no reason to start hugging the man or go off dancing with the elves. ‘Is there anything to drink in here?’

  A quick search of the cupboards revealed only a few basic supplies and no alcohol.

  ‘Bloody wizards,’ Conal snorted. ‘I’ll keep watch for half the night and wake you for your turn.’

  Martil felt as if he had barely closed his eyes when Conal woke him. He gave Conal a blanket, then moved a chair over to the window, where he could watch the trail. He doubted if the militia could find them. What the wizard had done would have fooled even the best tracker. Still, he had no intention of being complacent. The lanterns were out, meaning his night vision was not obscured by light in the cabin, and he let his eyes roam slowly across the clearing. He knew his peripheral vision would pick up any movement, so he let his eyes scan, while he was free to think.

  Finding the wizard was a stroke of luck. He needed answers, needed them desperately. But he was afraid his old friend Borin would be proved right: no good ever came of dealing with wizards.

  9

  Cezar was thinking about Martil when he rode into a large patrol of cavalry and militia, led by a bloodied and bruised Lieutenant Havrick. He had been almost dozing in the saddle, lulled by the long chase and the infuriating peacefulness of the country.

  ‘You there! Traveller! Have you seen anyone ride past? Two men on horses, a little girl and a man on a donkey?’ Havrick bellowed.