The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  ‘I hope I don’t have to perform much magic today,’ he admitted.

  ‘Couldn’t we just go out and try some more?’ Karia wanted to know.

  ‘No time. We have to leave soon.’ Merren stepped out of her bedroom dressed and ready to go. She wore the same tunic and trousers, ready for riding, but there was something about her, a purpose, and an intent, that seemed to set her glowing.

  ‘Today is the day when it all starts, the battle to win back my kingdom,’ she announced.

  Martil looked at her and knew he wanted to be with her. It was insane but he could not help it.

  ‘What was that?’ Karia asked, looking around suddenly from where she was eating at the table.

  ‘Sorry about that. Oatmeal always does it to me,’ Conal, sitting on the opposite side, apologised.

  But Barrett had felt it as well, and he knew just what it was. Time to stop things now, he decided. This arrogant Ralloran needed the facts of royal life explained to him. He must learn to yearn after Merren in secret, just as Barrett had been doing for years. After all, being an ignorant Ralloran, he might do something foolish, like act on his feelings.

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he declared loudly. ‘It was just a surge in the magic. Martil, do you want to give me a hand with the horses?’ He stared hard at Martil.

  Martil had no idea what the wizard was going on about, but he obviously wanted to talk in private, so he followed him out to the stables. He caught up with the long-striding wizard by the stable door, and Barrett spun to face him.

  ‘It can’t happen, you know,’ he declared, intent on laying down the law. Once they had had this little talk, Martil had to know he was here to perform a task and nothing more.

  ‘What?’ Martil was mystified.

  ‘You and the Queen. Put it out of your mind.’ Martil’s apparent innocence just annoyed Barrett. He had never liked warriors anyway. They always seemed to get the girl, even when it was obvious their brains were all in their swords. How many times had he seen it, a woman he liked ignore his brilliant mind and go off with a muscle-bound moron? Well, he wasn’t going to see it happen again.

  ‘What do you…? How do you…?’ Martil spluttered, at once furious and confused.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. When she walked out, your feelings for her were obvious. So obvious that they caused a disruption in the magic so large that even Karia felt it.’

  ‘How does…?’

  ‘Love is a powerful emotion. One that leads to magic, is perhaps even created by magic. Whatever the reason, it can be felt by those with the power. And we certainly felt it this morning. So I thought I would give you fair warning. The Queen is not for you. Better for you to know now, than be hurt later.’

  Martil’s anger blazed into life and it was all he could do not to punch this arrogant wizard. ‘You’re only saying that because you want her for yourself.’

  Barrett stopped in mid-flow, as if he had been slapped. How had this thick-headed warrior seen that? He was horribly aware that his silence was condemning him. ‘You’re mad,’ Barrett sneered at last.

  ‘You’re the one that knew Lahra. What do you ask her to do for you? Does she pretend to be the Queen for you? You can’t stand there and tell me you feel nothing for her. It’s been like a competition between us, ever since we rescued her.’ Martil could see his words hitting home. Bloody wizards. Always thought they were better than everyone else.

  Barrett felt himself losing control. He had not been challenged in years. ‘This is not a game. Yes, I feel affection for the Queen. But I’m not the one walking around after her with his tongue hanging out, looking like a lovesick puppy.’

  ‘I don’t notice her complaining. Perhaps your real concern is you’ve been with her for the past few years and she hasn’t even looked twice at you. But I intrigue her,’ Martil spat back.

  ‘Because she doesn’t understand how a murdering bastard like you could possibly end up with the Dragon Sword!’

  Martil stepped closer to him. ‘Well, I did get the Dragon Sword. Which must make me a better man than you!’

  Barrett snarled in fury and Martil tensed, ready to go for the Sword if the wizard so much as twitched his hands.

  ‘Do you need a hand with the horses?’ Conal said suddenly.

  They both turned as the old bandit stepped between them. Only he no longer looked like an old bandit, more like a militia sergeant come to break up a fight.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt what was looking like an interesting discussion, but by Zorva’s hairy arse, I don’t think you want the Queen to hear it—and I don’t think she’d want the two men who might just be able to give her back her kingdom to kill each other.’

  Martil moved back, while Barrett relaxed his grip on his staff.

  ‘Now, I didn’t hear all of that but I think I heard enough. And while I wouldn’t dream of offering you two advice on magic or warfare, I think I know a little bit more about the ladies than you do. And the simple fact is, Merren is a queen. She’s going to do what she wants to do. She might want one, or both, or neither of you. It’s out of your hands. She’s not a prize that can be won. So are we done, or do I have to pretend I could box your ears?’

  They looked at each other, then back to the bandit, then both nodded.

  ‘Then I suggest Barrett leaves and I give a hand to Martil with the horses.’

  Martil watched Barrett walk away with something close to hatred bubbling inside. He had done nothing more than daydream a little about the Queen. And Barrett had acted as if he had asked for her hand in marriage, then offered her a hovel to live in, with a rotting pig for her dowry. He had not felt like this about a woman for many years, and now he had been made to feel dirty about it.

  ‘Captain, I don’t want to take sides, but I have to say—don’t pin your hopes and heart on the Queen. She’s going to do what’s best for the country and her. She won’t care what that means to you,’ Conal said softly.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Martil said shortly.

  Conal held up his hand and walked off to begin brushing the horses. He wished he possessed the words to reach Martil. The man might be a demon in battle but he was defenceless against Merren. Love could be such a bastard, he knew.

  Meanwhile Martil brushed and saddled horses in silence, hoping the garrison would try to arrest him today. He felt as if he needed to take his anger out in battle. He imagined the guards at the gate stopping them, and then what he could do to them with the Dragon Sword. And what a shame it would be if something happened to Barrett during the battle.

  Those thoughts kept him going on the walk to Sendric. He was the only one actually walking, as Karia and Merren rode Tomon, Barrett was on his own horse and Conal had Noxie, his donkey. He found each time he looked up at Barrett sitting comfortably in the saddle his anger would rise. He had thought about getting Karia to ride with Barrett and having the Queen ride behind him on Tomon. After all, Tomon was a far bigger horse than Barrett’s steed. But after this morning, he knew Barrett would try to turn it into an argument.

  ‘We should try to avoid trouble. Fight only as a last resort,’ Merren said as they came over the brow of a hill to see Sendric in the distance. ‘The guards will not expect us to be here, and will not be looking out for us.’

  ‘And don’t use magic unless I tell you, Karia,’ Barrett added.

  ‘Aye. If she turns them all into killer rabbits, we’ll be in even more trouble,’ Conal joked.

  ‘Or I could turn them into wormies,’ Karia laughed.

  ‘It’s serious! You could hurt yourself! No magic!’ Martil barked, earning a hurt look from Karia. He looked away, unable to face her.

  That only put the edge on his anger. Part of him tried to remind himself that he and Merren came from different worlds, and all he really wanted was a home by the sea, not to live in a palace, be dressed like a fool and have to talk to nobles all day. But that was not the point. Nobody could tell him what he was allowed to do.


  By the time he reached the gate, he was careful to lead Tomon only with his left hand, so his right was close to the Sword.

  The guards on the gate were tired and bored and the taller one’s perfunctory questioning of the small group was brief, made briefer by his own disquiet at the way the warrior was staring at him.

  ‘Who were they?’ his mate asked. ‘You let them inside so fast I thought they must be relatives of yours.’

  ‘No idea, but that warrior looked like he was ready to kill someone.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we have stopped them?’

  ‘The two of us? Are you mad? Send word to get a full squad to intercept them.’

  The Queen quietly pointed out the directions to Martil, as they moved through the town. Because it had been built to withstand goblin attack, there was no direct road from the gate to the castle. Instead they were forced to make a series of turns down different streets. These were peaceful enough, a few carts rumbling around, a handful of people heading off to work, but no visible guards. Martil felt his frustration rise. He had been looking forward to hacking apart a patrol.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Merren said with relief, pointing to where a small castle dominated the skyline.

  To Martil’s eyes it looked too small to be effective, but he knew it had been built to fight goblins, not men. Goblins did not use siege engines, and their usual method of attack was waves of warriors using home-made ropes to scale the walls.

  Then a shout from behind made him turn, and he smiled as he realised whoever was in charge knew his business after all. A squad of soldiers had appeared from a side street and were now hurrying towards them.

  ‘Halt! In the name of the Duke!’

  ‘Perhaps we can outrun them,’ Conal said doubtfully.

  ‘And be chased into a trap? Give me Tomon and I’ll get rid of them.’ Martil wanted to both exercise his anger on the guards and impress the Queen.

  Merren hesitated, saw the soldiers getting closer, remembered what Martil had done back at Barrett’s house to Gello’s soldiers, grabbed Karia and slid down.

  ‘You stay here and watch the Queen,’ Martil told Barrett, determined no-one else would share the glory.

  Without waiting to see what Barrett’s answer was, he kicked Tomon into a charge, the big horse’s hooves striking sparks from the cobbles. He was dimly aware that Conal was trying to tie Noxie’s reins around the stump of his left arm and hold his sword at the same time but he ignored that, instead drawing the Dragon Sword. Normally he would have to have been mad to take on a full squad of men, but he had the Dragon Sword.

  The soldiers skidded to a halt as they realised Martil was not intending to escape, but was attacking them. Their sergeant was young and obviously debating how to stop Martil. They were not carrying spears or shields, so he formed his squad into two lines, making the first line kneel down. They held out their swords, hoping Martil would not press home the charge and if he did, they could haul him down before he killed too many. But Martil had no intention of being dragged out of his saddle. He twitched the reins and Tomon swerved to the left. As he rode past, Martil slashed the Dragon Sword up; the kneeling soldier had his head split apart, while the man behind reeled back with his throat ripped open. Blood fountained over the men beside them as their sergeant tried to get the men to turn and form up again. But Martil was quicker and rode past the other end of the line while they were still milling around, still standing up. This time he merely held out the Dragon Sword at head height and the men in the end files lost their heads as he spurred past. The two heads flew high, landing on the cobbles with a clatter and a wet thump.

  The rest of the shocked squad clung together for a second, drenched in the blood of their dead companions, then, as Martil turned for them one more time, they broke. They were trained men but the way he had slaughtered nearly half their number was unnerving.

  It was the worst thing they could have done.

  With the Dragon Sword, he just chopped down brutally, or held it low and speared through their backs. Three men were down and the fourth, the sergeant, turned to face him. The man was plainly terrified, and as Martil rode closer, threw down his sword and raised his hands. But Martil had already begun his stroke, which not only took off the sergeant’s head, but his arms as well. Martil ignored the mutilated corpse that collapsed behind him; he was looking at the last two men. They were running hard but he was mounted and he would have them in a few moments. Then a pigeon swooped at his head and he ducked, to see it followed by others. And not just pigeons. Starlings and sparrows swooped and screeched around his head. He instinctively turned Tomon and they sheered off.

  ‘Martil, the way is clear! Come on!’ Barrett bellowed, and Martil realised the wizard had sent the birds.

  He trotted back, past the slaughtered soldiers, to where Merren was shielding Karia’s face from the gruesome sight. As always after a fight, his anger was gone, replaced instead by regret that he had killed so many. Regret that was spurred into guilt by the Queen.

  ‘I thank you for your prompt action, but did you have to chase them down like dogs?’ Merren said stiffly.

  If Barrett had said those words, Martil would have been ready to attack him. But instead he felt the need to justify himself.

  ‘I had to. They would have brought back others had I let them run. As it is, they’ll go off and hide—and by then we’ll have the Count on our side,’ Martil argued.

  Merren looked sceptical. ‘They would have killed or arrested us, so I cannot complain about being free. But I doubt the Dragon Sword will approve of too many more acts such as that.’

  Martil looked down at the Sword. It was spotlessly clean, although his hands and arms were covered in blood and gore. Tomon was also spattered with blood, and worse, and Merren stepped away.

  ‘I think we’ll walk,’ she declared. ‘You should clean yourself up.’

  Barrett rode after them, giving Martil a glare, while Conal wordlessly offered Martil an old tunic, which he used to clean the worst off his face and hands.

  By the time Martil and Conal had caught up to Barrett, Karia and Merren, the wizard had put the two guards on the castle gates to sleep and was walking while Merren and Karia rode his horse.

  ‘A much cleaner way of doing things,’ the wizard said pointedly.

  Martil was in no mood to argue with him. What he had told Merren had been true, up to a point. But the real reason he had chased the men was the exultation he felt in killing them. It was made worse by the Dragon Sword. Its power made you invincible. He ignored Barrett and instead hoped this slaughter did not mean the dreams would come back.

  They rode through the open gates and into a long gate tunnel, lined with arrow slits and holes in the ceiling.

  ‘What are they for?’ Karia asked.

  ‘So the defenders can drop things on whoever is attacking them,’ Martil said automatically.

  ‘That’s not very nice!’

  Martil, still plastered in the blood of the men he had killed, said nothing.

  On the other side of the tunnel was a portcullis that appeared rusted into the top of the tunnel, then a large courtyard, enclosed by the castle wall. Stables took up one wall, storerooms another, and the keep the third. It was relatively quiet, barely a dozen people walking around, and it was a few moments before Merren could attract one over.

  ‘Yes?’ The servant, a tall, thin man with a large nose and receding hair, offered a short bow but did not offer them a title. He stared at the blood-spattered Martil.

  ‘Tell the Count an old playmate of his daughter is here to see him,’ Merren said carefully.

  This time the servant offered a deep bow.

  ‘Yes, mistress. May I suggest leaving your horses and that other creature in the stables and perhaps cleaning yourselves up? I shall go and speak to the Count.’

  ‘The Count will know who I am as soon as he gets the message,’ Merren said confidently, watching the man hurry away towards the keep.

  ‘As long as he
is not busy. It can only be a short time until the deaths of those soldiers are reported back to whoever is in command of the garrison here,’ Barrett said.

  Martil ignored him.

  The guest stables were almost empty, and a pair of bored stableboys were happy enough to take care of their horses, although Martil had to offer them a silver coin apiece to get them to clean off Tomon. He stepped behind some hay bales and changed out of his bloody clothes, using an old horse bucket to wash the rest of the blood off his face and hands.

  ‘Hurry, Martil, the servant’s coming back,’ Conal called.

  Martil quickly pulled on a fresh tunic and joined the others as the servant almost sprinted into the stables.

  ‘I’d say the Count has told him to treat us as if I were the Queen,’ Merren said with a smile. ‘Now, Martil, don’t show the Dragon Sword until I tell you.’

  Martil shrugged. He was suddenly nervous it would not respond to him. After all, he had just killed a man who was trying to surrender. Another memory I need to forget, he thought bitterly.

  ‘The Count…wishes you to join him…in his audience chamber.’ The servant skidded to a halt in front of them, performed a deep and respectful bow only slightly spoiled by his huffing and puffing, and then tried to hurry them towards the keep.

  ‘About time,’ Merren said coolly.

  The sweating servant led them across the courtyard and into the keep. It was unlike most of the fortifications Martil had ever seen. For a start it was carpeted, while the arrow holes were covered with glass, and lanterns and paintings gave relief to the dull stone walls.

  They could hear music, and laughter, drifting down from the stairs. Unlike most traditional castle stairs, these ones were wide and wooden, not narrow and stone.

  ‘I bet even the dungeons have nice warm rugs in here,’ Conal commented, staring at a huge tapestry on one wall.

  ‘A word of advice. Don’t try to make amusing remarks to the Count. He is a noble of the old school. I may be accepting of my unusual situation and thus tolerate your pert comments, but the Count will not. Understand?’