The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  ‘You need to relax. You’ll use up all your energy,’ Martil suggested coolly.

  ‘I’m worried about the Queen,’ Barrett snapped back.

  Martil shrugged and went back to reading to Karia, only she looked up, no longer interested in the book.

  ‘I can hear something!’ she said excitedly.

  ‘That’s her snores,’ Conal grunted, gesturing towards where Rabbag lay on a pew, her mouth open and a trail of spittle oozing onto the wood.

  ‘Make way!’ A soldier’s cry brought them to alertness.

  ‘Get ready!’ Barrett barked, which made Rabbag snort and sit up, rubbing her eyes blearily.

  ‘Time to earn your money,’ the wizard told her.

  ‘All right. Where do you want to do it?’ she said automatically.

  Luckily the sound of hooves on cobbles and the rumble of carriage wheels prevented Karia’s questions. Martil took a deep breath. He felt his heart start racing and his stomach churn. These were familiar feelings, which would stay until he started fighting, which he rather hoped would not be at all today. He had had a dispute with Havrick, but that was only one officer. Now he was going to set himself against Gello and make himself the focal point of a probable civil war. The very thing he had sworn to avoid. Again he had that feeling of being pushed along by events. Just because he had stopped to talk to a bandit in the woods, and had lost his temper. It was ridiculous. At least back in Rallora he had been fighting for a cause he believed in, right up until the end. This was a cause he barely understood. A girl’s suggestion, a wizard’s warning and the smile of a queen; that was all it had taken to grip him. How could it have happened so easily? But going back was not an option and there was no time to think about it any further.

  ‘Get ready,’ he said softly. ‘Stay quiet until we hear the Queen enter.’

  ‘No! You and Karia go outside. You are unknown to them. Pretend to be praying and then you can signal us,’ Barrett hissed.

  Martil saw the sense of that at once. ‘Come on,’ he held out his hand to Karia, who took it and followed him out into the church.

  They slid into a pew as the priest hurried past them, as he had obviously heard the sounds of the Queen’s escort as well. Now these sounds stopped, then the church door banged open and the Queen’s party walked in. Martil turned his head—he knew everyone else in the church would as well—to see the Queen and four ladies-in-waiting walk in, all wearing long hooded cloaks.

  Father Prent walked up to her. ‘Can I do anything for you, your majesty?’ the priest asked smoothly.

  ‘Unless you plan to ask Aroaril to visit a plague upon Duke Gello, I think I can find my way to a pew safely,’ the Queen said crisply.

  ‘As your majesty wishes.’ Prent bowed his head and walked away.

  Martil watched both the Queen, and then Prent until he disappeared into his office. Her every movement was imbued with purpose and he could not take his eyes off her. He needed to make a good impression on her. He had to attract her attention in a dignified, professional way. He was trying to think what he could do when Karia jumped onto a pew and waved furiously.

  The Queen saw them instantly and hurried over, trailing ladies-in-waiting.

  ‘The warrior and the little girl. But where is Barrett?’ she asked urgently.

  Martil had been trying to think of something intelligent to say, but his tongue would not obey him. Rather than stand there like a fool, he stepped across the aisle and knocked on the door of the prayer room. Instantly Barrett stepped out. The Queen gave a soft cry of delight and Martil was disturbed to see an expression of rapt adoration on Barrett’s face.

  ‘You did it then!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, your majesty. As I promised I would.’

  Martil decided to step in then. ‘Explanations must wait. We need to hurry.’

  ‘Of course,’ the Queen agreed. ‘Barrett, what is your plan?’

  Martil had no intention of letting Barrett take the credit. ‘We have hired a lady of the night to replace you. You will need to swap clothes. Your ladies-in-waiting will take her back to the palace, where she will change again, then leave, dressed as a servant girl. Meanwhile, we will have slipped out of the city, using magic.’

  ‘A simple plan. Good—those are usually the best. Gello’s men will suspect nothing. They think nobody is prepared to help me. The whore—is it Lahra?’ the Queen asked.

  ‘Y—your majesty!’ Barrett gasped.

  ‘Calm down, Barrett. I’m not going to let something like that concern me. We have much bigger problems.’

  Barrett stepped aside, allowing Conal to guide a bleary-looking Rabbag into the main body of the church. The Queen looked at her critically.

  ‘There is some likeness, but really, their brains must be elsewhere,’ she commented.

  Martil and Barrett exchanged a quick look, although Martil’s attention was almost instantly diverted by the sight of the Queen starting to unbutton her cloak. She shrugged off the long hooded garment to reveal she was wearing a leather jerkin over a green tunic top and trousers. The trousers were reinforced on the inside with leather, making them ideal for riding, and she was also wearing sensible leather boots. ‘I can pick up formal dresses from a hundred homes,’ she smiled.

  There was silence from both Martil and Barrett. The Queen’s clothes were eminently practical but were, of necessity, also figure-hugging.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Father Prent stared at the strange party in his church. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  Martil’s hand almost reached for his sword, then he realised who he was dealing with. But the Queen was faster.

  ‘Father, we are taking direct action to save this country. If you feel unable to help us, as you have said before, then perhaps you should go back into your office and pray,’ she said.

  Prent looked at the Queen’s outfit, then to Rabbag, and comprehension dawned on his face. ‘You are seeking to escape and take back the throne. This will mean civil war. You cannot do this!’ he gasped.

  ‘You think you can forbid me?’ The Queen’s voice was cold enough to freeze most men but Prent just continued on.

  ‘It is your duty to submit! Women were not meant to rule! It is an offence against Aroaril and the dragons—and it was Aroaril’s judgement that saw the Dragon Sword stolen and the Duke ascend to the throne. To defy His decision will doom us all! I demand you surrender the traitors with you and beg forgiveness! Duke Gello must rule Norstalos!’

  ‘We have the Dragon Sword,’ Barrett declared. ‘That proves your words false!’

  ‘Enough!’ The Queen’s voice ended the debate. ‘Father, if I thought for one heartbeat that stepping aside for Duke Gello would bring peace to this country then I would do so. But he will be this country’s worst nightmare. I was not the one who started this but, by Aroaril, I shall finish it.’ She turned away, dismissing Prent. ‘Now let us hurry! Get the whore ready!’

  ‘A whore? In here?’ Prent gasped.

  ‘Father, another word from you and I shall have this warrior remove your tongue!’ the Queen snapped.

  Martil half-drew his sword, to emphasise her words.

  With a combination of outrage and fear on his face, Prent sank into a pew.

  ‘Come on. The guards will be expecting us to take some time but they will be alerted if we have any more loud arguments.’ The Queen waved to her ladies-in-waiting, who immediately started buttoning Rabbag into the hooded cloak.

  ‘’Ere! What’s going on?’ Rabbag protested.

  ‘Silence, woman! Do not speak again!’ the Queen said and Rabbag, cowed, fell quiet.

  As soon as the ladies had Rabbag dressed, they opened their own cloaks and produced small leather backpacks that they handed to Conal.

  ‘Gold and gems. Enough to finance a war,’ one explained, at which point Conal’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Good luck, your majesty,’ another said, then stepped forward to embrace the Queen, who waved them away.

  ‘There is
no time for this, Rana,’ she said irritably.

  ‘Are you sure of this course of action, your majesty?’ Rana asked tremulously.

  ‘I am, Rana. I trust Barrett. And if there is a chance to take back my throne, I will not let it slip away. I will not let Gello defeat me!’

  ‘Barrett I know. But what of the warrior? Can he be trusted?’

  Barrett turned to Martil. ‘Show them,’ he urged.

  So Martil drew the Dragon Sword and willed it to become its own form. Instantly it seemed to catch what little light there was in the church, and lift the gloom. Martil was watching the Queen, and was delighted to see her face transform, worry lines smoothing away and a smile that could only be considered beautiful light her face. For a long moment, everyone stared at the Sword, and out of the corner of his eye, Martil saw the priest’s jaw drop. But he was more interested in the Queen’s reaction.

  ‘I have a Champion at last!’ she exulted.

  ‘I am yours to command,’ Martil said, without really thinking about it. Then he realised what he had said and sheathed the Dragon Sword, turning it back into an old-looking sword, before he did anything else stupid. That seemed to wake everyone up.

  ‘We must hurry,’ the Queen said briskly. ‘You must get the whore back to the palace before anything is suspected.’

  ‘’Ere! I can play a lady!’ Rabbag declared.

  ‘And she must not talk, under any circumstances,’ the Queen continued.

  Martil produced two gold pieces and handed them to Rana.

  ‘That’s her payment. See that she gets it,’ he instructed. ‘But not until she’s back at the palace.’

  ‘Good luck, Rana.’ The Queen waved the ladies away. Martil could see a couple of them were almost in tears.

  ‘Go with Aroaril, your majesty. Let us hope we can welcome you back into your city in triumph soon.’

  Rana then had the ladies form up around Rabbag, so her walk, which was designed to show off her assets, could be more easily disguised.

  ‘Go!’ Barrett urged them.

  ‘We should get out of sight. In here, perhaps.’ Martil gestured to the prayer room they had been using, and they hurried inside, Conal herding Father Prent with them, as Rana gave one last wave and then opened the church doors.

  ‘We just have to wait until we hear them go, then it’s back to my house and out of the city,’ Barrett said quickly.

  Prent started to rise, until Conal showed him the business end of a knife and the priest subsided weakly onto a seat.

  The Queen listened for a moment for sounds that Rabbag had been discovered, then smiled. ‘There is so much I want to know! How did you find the Sword—and how did you find a Champion? You are not Norstaline…your voice tells me you must be Ralloran?’

  ‘That’s right, your majesty,’ Martil agreed.

  ‘And the man with one hand. Are you Tetran or Norstaline? I can hear both accents in your voice.’

  ‘Once of Norstalos, late of Tetril, now just following Captain Martil,’ Conal grinned.

  The Queen looked back at Martil. ‘Captain Martil? A Ralloran? Not the Captain Martil, the Butcher of Bellic?’ The smile on her face died and she stared at him coldly.

  Martil felt as though he had taken another blow to the stomach, only this one was truly painful.

  ‘The same,’ he sighed.

  ‘But how could the Sword accept him?’ she demanded of Barrett.

  Barrett shrugged. ‘You saw it change for him. Obviously there is more to him than just his reputation. But this is neither the time nor the place to…wait!’

  They all heard it then, shouted orders followed by hooves clattering on the cobbles as the escort formed up outside.

  ‘Luckily my cousin’s arrogance is unsurpassed. He does not think a woman can run a country, nor does he imagine that she could dare to escape,’ the Queen said coldly.

  They sat in silence, imagining what was going on outside. Had the ladies been able to get Rabbag into the carriage without anyone noticing? Would guards come flooding back in here? Martil contented himself with thinking that at least the Queen had not ordered him to show the Dragon Sword to the soldiers and try and win them over.

  The only one who was not feeling the tension was Karia, who was trying to find the place in her book when a whip cracked and both horses and carriage rattled off down the street.

  ‘We did it!’ Conal laughed.

  ‘Gently. We should wait for a while before leaving. They need to get out of sight. The last thing we want is for someone to look over their shoulder,’ Barrett instructed.

  ‘But we also want to be long gone before they discover I have been replaced,’ the Queen corrected him. ‘Let us wait just inside the doors.’

  They walked out; Father Prent let them get a safe distance ahead of him then called to the Queen.

  ‘Your majesty, I demand you reconsider! Stay here, praying to Aroaril for guidance until the whore is discovered and your guards return!’

  ‘What?’ the Queen’s voice crackled with anger and Prent flinched. ‘Father, you take too much on yourself. When I return, I shall be speaking to the Archbishop about your tenure here. Your tendency to interfere in secular matters is a great concern, almost as great as your seeming inability to grasp reality. The throne is mine by right, and I now have a Champion to wield the Dragon Sword. I shall rule this country, and one of my first acts on returning to the throne will see you sent to minister to the goblins.’

  Martil could not help but smile at the horrified expression on Prent’s face. The goblins, the derogatory term for the primitive men who lived in the mountains north of Norstalos, and worshipped spirits of the air and water. The Norstalines often sent missionaries to convert them to Aroaril, but these missionaries were counted outrageously successful if they returned with their lives.

  ‘We have waited long enough. It is time to go,’ the Queen declared.

  Martil was not sure they had, but there was no stopping her. She stormed out, leaving a stunned Prent, so they hurried to catch her as she stepped cautiously out into the street. The cavalry had indeed gone, so Barrett led the way to the horses. Karia and the Queen climbed onto Tomon, Barrett and the bags of gems were loaded onto his horse, and Martil and Conal walked alongside, trying to look casual as they hurried as fast as they dared.

  It felt as though everyone was watching them, but there were few people around and none shouted out or exclaimed at the sight of Queen Merren. Martil was just beginning to think they had pulled off the perfect escape, when the church bells began to ring, which everyone knew was a traditional way of sounding an alarm.

  ‘That bastard!’ Martil spat. ‘We should have cut his bloody head off!’

  ‘We must hurry!’ The Queen had paled slightly, but her jaw was set in determination.

  They were almost at Barrett’s house when a shout warned them. A squad of troopers was galloping after them, lances levelled.

  ‘We won’t have enough time!’ Martil warned. ‘They’ll be onto us before Barrett can get us through that tree! Knock some off their horses and I’ll take care of the rest!’

  ‘No! I need my strength! My traps will take care of them,’ Barrett declared.

  ‘Do as Barrett says!’ the Queen ordered and Martil ground his teeth in frustration.

  They hurried around the side of the house, Martil and Conal hanging onto the stirrups of the horses so they could keep up. But the troopers were closing fast. Martil glanced over his shoulder as the pounding of hooves on the driveway grew louder. But it wasn’t the horses he was worried about—it was the long lances the troopers held, with the large, diamond-shaped blades.

  Then they were around the back of the house and Barrett waved his hand at the pile of sticks that had amused Conal when they had first arrived. These flew through the air, to scatter themselves over the ground.

  ‘That’ll save us!’ Barrett told the Queen smugly.

  Martil looked at the flimsy sticks, then at the troopers in steel breastpla
tes, mail shirts and polished helms, mounted on powerful warhorses, carrying swords and lances.

  Just as he opened his mouth to demand Barrett do something a little more spectacular, the horses galloped over the sticks. Instantly these came to life, tying horses’ legs together or even tying themselves to the legs of two different horses. A proud, confident charge became a shambles in an instant, with horses rearing and falling, men going in all directions, horses screaming, men bellowing, the sound of armour striking stone, the sound of men and horses breaking.

  Martil actually let go of Tomon’s stirrup in surprise as Barrett let out a howl of triumph.

  ‘See? All you need is magic!’ the wizard laughed.

  For a heartbeat, it seemed he was right. But from the shambles of the charge, four troopers had managed to survive unhurt—and these four slowly got to their feet, drew swords and began to advance.

  ‘Barrett! What now?’ the Queen demanded.

  But Barrett hesitated. Stopping these four men would rob him of valuable energy. Martil saw his chance to show the Queen who was more valuable to her.

  ‘Leave them to me. I’ll get rid of them and then we can escape safely,’ he declared.

  The Queen looked doubtful. ‘They’re all wearing armour! How can you fight them alone?’

  ‘It’s what I’ve been doing most of my life,’ Martil told her confidently. After all, they had to be shaken up after that fall.

  ‘You there, help him!’

  In response to her order, Conal joined Martil between two long herb beds, while Barrett, Karia and the Queen backed further away down the garden.

  ‘Go! I can handle them myself,’ Martil told Conal.

  ‘Bugger that. I can’t run any further, and I want to earn my share of the reward,’ Conal puffed.

  ‘Give me room,’ Martil instructed. ‘They’ll get in each others’ way in here. Just hold back any that try to get past me.’

  He drew both his swords and loosened his shoulders and wrists with a series of swings. The Dragon Sword still looked like an old shortsword but it felt light and incredibly well balanced. The nerves he had had this morning were gone, as he had known they would be. He had learned over the years to relax and let his body fight for him. Thinking too much slowed him down. Far better to let his instincts take over and let his muscles react as they were trained to do. Those who thought about what they were doing before they actually did it were that fraction slower, and eventually ended up dead.