by Duncan Lay
‘Yes, your grace.’ The officer bowed and backed swiftly out of the room, visibly relieved to have escaped with his head.
Gello sat down heavily. He felt a pang at the loss of Chelten—he had been by his side for years and his loyalty was without question. The Queen would not have the Sword if Chelten was alive. But he pushed aside that regret and quickly reviewed his plans. He had forced as much of the army as he could to recite a pledge of honour to serve only him. His mother had spent months poring over writings about the Sword, trying to find weaknesses, and she believed it would not be able to force men to break an oath. His plan was more straightforward. As soon as the Queen and her Champion arrived at a town and tried to raise an army using the Sword, he would descend on them with a massive force and crush them. The Sword could only do so much. Peasants and city workers, even in their thousands, were no match for heavy cavalry and trained infantry.
Still, he worried. If he lost now, he would be haunted by not just one but two failures. He could never live that down. He must do whatever it took to win. A thought struck him. What if he forced the army to do things that the Sword would not like? Reputedly, it was only after good men. What if he turned his army loose on a few villages? Killing and raping a few peasants would not affect the country much—there were always plenty of peasants—but it might just prevent his army defecting. And it would be perfect training for when they invaded other countries.
He smiled to himself, drew a piece of parchment towards himself and began to write.
‘Your grace, another officer to see you,’ a servant announced.
Gello waved the man in, hoping it was to report the whereabouts of the Queen. Instead, a dishevelled officer he had never seen before rushed into the throne room. Gello recoiled a little. The man wore a blood- and travel-stained surcoat that bore the light cavalry crest of a galloping horse and he had blackened eyes and a swollen nose.
‘Your grace! I have vital news! The Queen’s Magician attacked us and, thanks to a Ralloran warrior, escaped. He and this man, who may have the Dragon Sword, are on their way to the capital to rescue the Queen.’
‘You’re a little late,’ Gello said sardonically. He was about to order the man dragged from his presence and whipped for not delivering the news sooner, when he remembered where he had sent the light cavalry to search for Barrett. ‘Have you ridden from the Tetran border?’
‘Yes, your grace. I killed four horses getting here.’
Gello was impressed. Such devotion to duty, such single-minded purpose, allied with a complete disregard for those beneath him. These were rare qualities, and ones he prized highly.
‘What is your name?’
‘Lieutenant Havrick of the Lights, sir.’
‘Do you know who this Ralloran is?’
‘He claims to be War Captain Martil, one of the Butchers of Bellic. I shall never forget his face. Twice he has defied me, the second time he did this,’ Havrick gestured towards his broken nose.
Gello stood and began to pace. He knew Captain Martil. He had followed his exploits—and his victories—with interest. The man had the sort of reputation he wanted. He had felt the two of them would have much in common, would be able to share warriors’ tales over a drink. Of course, he was a Ralloran, and not nobly-born, but you couldn’t have everything. If the Ralloran was helping Merren, that was a concern—and an opportunity. Beating such a celebrated war captain would only help Gello’s legend grow. He thought quickly. This Martil must have been able to draw the Sword, judging by what he did to those troopers. But being a Ralloran, he would not realise the Sword did not like being used for killing. Too much fighting and he would be unable to use its power to rally men. He could use this to his advantage, and test out his theory about his men being able to withstand the Sword’s power at the same time.
‘Lieutenant, are you ready for command?’ Gello spun on his heel to face the officer.
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Excellent. I’m going to give you two companies of heavy cavalry and three of your own lights. As soon as we discover where this man is hiding, you will take these men, along with the authority to command any local garrisons and press into service local militia. Form an army and use them to crush whatever pitiful force he has raised. You will use whatever means are necessary and will let nothing stand in your way. If anyone, be they farmers, townsfolk or nobles, tries to hinder you, be utterly ruthless with them. Are you capable of taking on this duty?’
Havrick’s face was shining now. ‘I am, your grace!’
‘Then bathe, get changed, and report back to me, War Captain Havrick.’
Gello watched Havrick hurry off and permitted himself a smile. This would be a fast-moving, potent force that should be able to take on five times its number in untrained peasants. If he could only find out where the Queen was going…He sent for the young officer who had reported the Queen’s escape, and tried to find out more. How had she escaped? Who was with her?
‘She exchanged clothes with a local whore, who was smuggled out by the ladies-in-waiting. The whore looked like the Queen, so we did not think twice about it, until we heard the church bells ringing. Then, when I questioned the Queen, it became obvious she was not royal.’
‘Lahra! It must have been her! Very clever,’ Gello spat. ‘What have you done with them?’
‘The whore’s in a cell. Do you want her killed, sir?’
Gello was shocked. ‘Are you insane, boy? Lahra’s booked to appear at my birthday party in three days’ time! Where am I going to find a replacement? No, give her a few silvers and send her on her way.’
‘And the ladies-in-waiting?’
‘Question them. If they refuse to answer, let them watch as some of your men rape one of them, then slit her throat, and see if the next one talks. Understand?’
‘But, your grace, one of them is the daughter of the Count of Sendric. Shouldn’t we let her go?’
Gello sniffed. ‘She shouldn’t have helped my cousin escape.’ He paused. No matter what I do, Sendric will never be a friend of mine. I will have to have him killed at some point, so we might as well make it now, he thought. ‘See that she is the first one dragged out of the cell,’ he ordered.
‘Yes, your grace.’
Gello watched him go and reflected he needed to issue an order regarding how he was to be addressed. Normally his officers just called him ‘sir’, but since taking over the throne room, he had seen them fall back to his Ducal title. But that was not enough. Besides, ‘your grace’ sounded too much like a bishop. No, from now on, he would be addressed as ‘sire’ or they would receive a flogging. He had just sent orders out to that effect, as well as an order for the garrison commander at Sendric to arrest the Count, when his war captains arrived.
Gello waited until all had a drink before outlining what had happened.
Instantly he felt the tension in the room increase. The faces did not give much away but he knew what they were thinking. These men had been part of his inner circle for more than a decade now. They had been promised much: gold, women, land and, not least of all, command of armies. Every one of them was guilty of treason by supporting Gello. None had seen the Dragon Sword in action but all had been raised on its legends.
‘We have prepared for this eventuality,’ he told them. ‘If she is to raise an army, then let it be peasants and townsfolk, armed with pitchforks and cudgels, that we can sweep away in a single charge.’
He looked around and saw the confidence returning.
‘Gentlemen, this is not a saga. Peasants cannot defeat heavy cavalry. We will crush all those who rise against me. Now, any questions?’
‘Your—sire.’ A scarred veteran by the name of Grissum spoke up at once. ‘My regiment will be almost useless for battle. I doubt if a hundred and fifty of them have made the loyalty pledge.’
Gello nodded. Grissum was in charge of the archers, one of the regiments traditionally loyal to the crown. Perhaps because it was filled with peasant scum, commoners wh
o he refused to admit to his cavalry regiments.
‘Sire, my regiment is even worse. I doubt if I could muster a whole company of pledgers,’ a plump captain, another favourite of Gello’s called Beq, piped up.
‘That is a sacrifice we shall have to make. The archers and rangers will be useful when we take on the Tetrans and Berellians, so we shall not discard them. But we cannot risk them joining the Queen. They will be confined to barracks and watched closely. Any caught trying to run will have their hands chopped off.’
His senior captain, a thin, bearded man who had first taught Gello how to fight a war, coughed.
‘What is it, Feld?’ Gello asked immediately.
‘Sire, those regiments are the best ones to pursue the Queen through broken country. She would be mad to set up in a town, for we have garrisons at all of them. She’ll make a base in a forest or in some hills. Perfect country for rangers but not for my heavy cavalry.’
‘My lights can do the job just as well,’ disagreed that captain, a muscular man with long red hair.
‘Indeed! This is why I have promoted a junior officer to the rank of war captain.’
There was a rumble around the table at this, as all looked and wondered who would be replaced. Beq and Grissum looked the most concerned.
Gello paused, enjoying the effect it had on them. ‘We shall need more war captains as we expand the army. But this will be a temporary position. If the man does well, then he will command the first of our new regiments. He is one of yours, Livett. A man called Havrick.’
All eyes swivelled to the captain of the light cavalry, who looked shocked. ‘Havrick? But, sire, I have other, much better officers than he…’
Gello shrugged. ‘They do not have his unique quality—he knows who the Queen’s Champion is, and will stop at nothing to destroy him.’
Livett sank back in his chair.
‘I have given him two of Feld’s companies, and three of Livett’s. He also has the authority to assume command of local garrisons. His job is to find the rebels and smash them before they grow too large. If he succeeds, he will join us around this table. If he fails, his body will rot in an unmarked grave somewhere.’
They nodded agreement.
‘Victory, that elusive mistress, has slipped away from us. But plans never survive the first contact with the enemy. We have reorganised ourselves and we will win, because we have the men, the weapons, the training and the desire. Now, go and secure your regiments.’ He gave them a smile as they left, knowing he had to show confidence. He watched them go then went back to his maps. He had found if he thought about hurting others, he didn’t have to think about his own hurt.
Martil had hoped to impress the Queen with his cooking skills but was horribly aware the stew would probably be considered of poor quality by the palace dogs. Still, both Karia and Barrett had wolfed it down. He had to spend some time with Karia, as well. She was sulking after he had snapped at her and was visibly upset when he asked her to do something. Usually after a fight, his mind cleared and he could think things through and act reasonably, no matter how angry he had been before. For some reason, after using the Sword, that had not happened straightaway. Now, of course, he could see how he had upset her, but it took some apricots in honey, an apology and a particularly gooey saga about a singing princess who looked after seven elves in a forest before she was mollified.
By then, the Queen wanted what she called a council of war, although as it included both Conal and Karia, Martil could hardly compare it with some of the true councils of war he had attended. Karia sat on his lap and finished off the apricots while they talked.
‘The plan is simple. We must catch Gello off guard. Sendric is a market town, but, being so far north, has a small castle and an impressive wall to protect against goblin raids. Even better, the Count of Sendric is an old friend, as well as a bitter opponent of Gello. We can use his town as our base, while the Dragon Sword brings in men from across the country. Once we have enough, we shall march back to the capital, gathering men along the way, and then either depose or destroy Gello,’ she declared.
Martil gulped. That was exactly the plan he had hoped would never be mentioned. Apart from his fears the Dragon Sword’s magic would not work for him, he had a fairly clear idea of what might happen if he took on Gello’s army with a few thousand poorly-armed farmers.
‘Your majesty, what will Gello be doing in the meanwhile?’ he asked carefully.
‘What do you mean?’
‘To bring enough men together will take weeks, possibly months. Your people have been at peace so long, it may take a long time to persuade enough men to join us. We would not want to leave without at least 20,000 men, and only then if we are confident we can collect that number again on the march to the city. Gello has 10,000 trained troops, including heavy cavalry. Unless we have a massive numerical advantage, we shall be slaughtered. And then we must manufacture enough weapons and armour for them. Even if we had a hundred blacksmiths working night and day, it would take months to give them just swords and shields. Then there is the issue of feeding such a host. Without good food, the men will not have the energy to fight or train. And we must have supplies enough to take with us, in case Gello invites us to besiege him. Getting an army together takes more than just waving around a sword and asking people to join you. Without arms, armour and food, we have nothing. While we are trying to do all that, what is Gello going to do? He’s not going to sit in your palace, waiting for us to attack. He’s going to be up here with every man he has got, aiming to smash us before we can gather our strength. I’m sorry, your majesty, but it cannot be done so easily.’
Martil saw her face crease in disappointment as she absorbed the logic of his argument. Then she rallied herself.
‘What do you suggest then, Captain?’
‘We must start training a small company. Once they are ready, they go into hiding and we move on to another town to do the same thing again. Then, when we rise up, it will be in so many places that Gello will be unable to concentrate his men. Meanwhile, we must not give Gello the chance to bring us to battle.’
‘And how long will all that take?’ Barrett asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Martil admitted, ‘but it will work. It did for us in the Ralloran Wars. Trying to raise a massive army and then take on Gello too soon will just result in slaughter.’
‘But what if the Sword can persuade Gello’s men to fight for us?’ Barrett countered.
The Queen held up a hand. ‘I can tell you now, not enough will come over just by raising the Sword. Just seeing Gello’s men in action around the palace and in the capital tells me he has been choosing men who believe in his dreams of conquest and blood. And I learned he is also making his soldiers sign on their honour to obey him. Most will not break those oaths, no matter how strong the call of the Sword. Captain Martil is right.’
Barrett looked furious, but she placed a hand on his arm.
‘Listen to me. My counsellors—the ones I inherited from my father—were all nobles. Chief among them, as commander of the army, was Duke Gello. They all left my service for Gello’s, one by one, as he wooed them over, or left the city, like Count Sendric, because they feared for their lives if they stayed. You are my new counsellors. I ask you to give me the benefit of your experience, and do not fear my reaction.’
She looked around the table. ‘That goes for you as well, bandit. I would appreciate your opinion.’
Conal cleared his throat. ‘Well, Martil’s plan seems sensible. We have to operate in secret, work from the shadows, so he does not know what our true strength is. Bandits ambush, surprise and drift away when threatened. That works, otherwise I would not be here to tell you about it.’
The Queen smiled. ‘Reluctant as I am to endorse a bandit’s viewpoint, it makes sense. Tomorrow we go to see Count Sendric. He can supply us with men, weapons, food and money. Now, though, I want to find out how Martil came to get the Sword and find Barrett.’
So Martil t
old how he had come north after leaving the Ralloran army, glossing over the bit about ordering the destruction of Bellic and the nightmares it had given him. Talking about Karia seemed far easier, as he explained about Father Nott telling them to go towards Tetril.
The Queen smiled at that. ‘You must admit, it does seem fortuitous. You find Karia and take her to her uncle, who just happens to have been killed while regaining the Dragon Sword. The priest must have seen something.’
Martil grudgingly agreed. ‘I’d also like to talk to him about that.’
‘It is intriguing. He entrusts his granddaughter to a warrior with a reputation such as yours—he must have seen something in you…’
Martil felt his heart jump a little when she said she was intrigued by him, and caught sight of Barrett staring at him coldly. The wizard obviously did not enjoy hearing that compliment, Martil thought smugly. So he finished the tale of how he had met Barrett and came to rescue the Queen. Then it was Conal’s turn. The Queen was particularly interested in hearing about how he had decided to join Martil.
‘How did you feel?’ she asked.
Conal thought about that one. ‘Your majesty, I would be delighted to tell you I felt a golden glow and the desire to do good and care for small animals but there was nothing like that. My old life came to an end with Danir’s death and I was looking for a new direction anyway. Although, admittedly, I do want a royal pardon and maybe the chance to be what I once was, a militia sergeant.’
‘Zorva’s balls! You were a militia shit-slinger?’ Karia gasped.
The Queen was about to snap at her when Martil signalled furiously behind Karia’s back. ‘It’s a long story,’ was all he said aloud, ‘but I think perhaps we should be careful what we say around Karia. That is my fault.’
‘I was once in the militia, princess,’ Conal admitted. ‘Can you forgive me for that?’
Karia thought about it for a moment. ‘They can’t be all bad then,’ she agreed.
