The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  As he had expected, Jennar was the first to speak up. ‘Sir, what about the town? We don’t want to leave it undefended. And we have no way of arming the militia now.’

  ‘How many men have we got for the independent company?’

  Jennar coughed. ‘We had more than eighty militia and young men come along, but after all the incidents in the town, that’s down to about a dozen.’

  Havrick ground his teeth. ‘Then we shall leave one of your companies behind to hold the town.’

  ‘But, sir, wouldn’t it be better to leave one of the cavalry companies? It will leave the force light in infantry if one-third of my men remain behind.’

  Havrick laughed. ‘Who needs infantry? We shall ride in and smash them. Any other questions?’

  ‘Food, sir. And supplies. We don’t have enough to stay out for very long.’

  Havrick had had just about enough of this questioning. ‘Then we take what we need. Rip this place apart and find me every scrap of oats and hay, every barrel of dried meat and every sack of salt. Now go!’

  Havrick watched them file out and knew they would be talking about him. They always talked about him. No matter. He just needed enough supplies for a few days, just long enough to find and crush Martil. Then they could all starve, for all he cared. Meanwhile, he had his own preparations to make. He summoned a serving girl and ordered her to bring him wine. He would have at least one more fine night before it was off to sleep in fields and eat salt beef.

  But for the rest of the town, it was not a good night. Merchants protested in vain as their wagons and food were commandeered. And not just food. The soldiers took anything that interested them, and used the opportunity to loot some stores that sold nothing useful for a campaign but plenty of things that were valuable. The light cavalry were particularly brutal. The deaths of their comrades had put them in an ugly mood. They smashed down doors, broke into warehouses, took beer, wine and women and left anyone who questioned them lying in a pool of blood.

  The sound of the violence and the screaming drifted through the night air. Havrick left the sobbing servant girl to collect her clothes as he wandered out onto the balcony. He wanted to enjoy this last night of luxury but it was spoiled by the knowledge it was time to earn his promotion. Part of him longed for the chance to show how clever he was, to prove everyone wrong. But he could also feel the weight of the responsibility. All his life people had been telling him he was not good enough. His parents, his teachers and his officers—all had said the same thing. He feared he would prove them right.

  The ambush site was easy to find. The charred wagons still smouldered, and the bodies of dead horses were still piled by the side of the road, stinking in the sun. Dried blood and broken arrows showed where the escort’s futile charge had been slaughtered.

  He only had two scouts at his disposal—barely a handful of rangers were considered trustworthy enough to be allowed out of their barracks—but looking at the wide trail left by the wagons, he was confident even he could follow it. Around him the men were silent and surly; a night of too much drink, plenty of work and little sleep, followed by a dawn march, did not give them much to be happy about. Havrick had a full company of light cavalry patrolling around them in all directions—after what had happened here, he was determined not to be caught again.

  This was his big chance. The third son of a decorated army officer, who had been celebrated at court for fighting goblins, he had been ridiculed by his father for not being able to understand military strategy, or being able to use a sword more than competently. But while his brothers ultimately decided not to join the army—one was a horse breeder, the other a ship’s captain—he had joined up to prove them wrong. He had bought his commission but had been unable to advance particularly far—until now. This was his opportunity to show his brothers and father that they had been wrong. And he was not going to let his men’s intransigence slow his march to glory.

  His infantry had consisted of one company of pikemen and two of swordsmen. The pikemen were used to protect archers, break up cavalry attacks and to break an enemy line. However, the weight of their massive weapons made marching difficult, so he had left that company behind to watch the town of Sendric. But even the swordsmen were struggling to keep up with his cavalry, marching in their hauberks, coats of tightly-meshed chain mail.

  To try and speed things up, he ordered them to leave shields and armour behind with the supply wagons they had scrounged and stolen from the town, while leaving another company of light cavalry to guard their supplies. This meant the march was quicker although still not fast enough for his liking. The trail was wide and obvious and the rebels close to destruction.

  Then it all started to go wrong.

  The trail disappeared into woods, which had to be impossible. Wagons could not crash their way through bushes and squeeze past trees without leaving some evidence of their passing. But, apparently, they had. Havrick sent his scouts and a company of swordsmen in to try and find the trail, while he bit his nails in frustration. They returned—but the news they returned with made no sense. Havrick, Jennar and most of his officers followed them in, marching five miles through rough wood country until they came across the wagons, emptied of almost all their supplies and sitting quietly in a clearing, with no apparent evidence of how they had got there and, worse, no trail to suggest where the rebels had gone.

  ‘It’s a mystery to me, sir,’ the lead scout admitted.

  ‘How did they do this?’ Havrick raged, his hopes of an easy victory thwarted.

  ‘Must be magic, sir. Because there’s no earthly way a man could get in or out of here without leaving a trace,’ the scout declared.

  ‘Barrett. The Queen’s Magician. He must have done this,’ Jennar said.

  Havrick stared at Jennar with loathing. Did the man think he was in charge or something? Well, he would soon put him in his place. ‘Perhaps we should fight magic with magic. Were there any magicians in Sendric that we can use?’

  Jennar sighed. ‘A town like Sendric can only support a couple of wizards. There’s not enough people who can afford to pay for magic. There’s an old man who’s long past it and a young bloke who’s only been here for a year or so…’

  ‘Well, get them. Any magic is better than none. See to it.’

  ‘But, sir, those two would be mad to go up against someone like Barrett. It’s almost a death sentence for them.’

  Havrick stared at him coldly. ‘And why is that a concern of mine?’ He decided it was time to show Jennar who was really the leader. ‘I want a cavalry patrol to go back to town and bring me any wizards you can find. There will be no excuses. Quickly!’

  ‘And what if they can’t help us anyway, sir?’ Jennar asked.

  Havrick smiled wolfishly. ‘The rebels have made a mistake, thinking that we would give up here. But we shall use this as our starting point. They must have gone either north or east of here, deeper into the woods. So we shall split the two companies of infantry into groups of twenty and you shall all start searching, each taking a slightly different route, until you find their camp.’

  Jennar stared at him, appalled. ‘Sir, you’re talking about a massive area! These woods go on up to the mountains—two hundred men won’t be able to search all that! After a day or so, we’ll be so far away from each other that they could wipe out each group and the ones to either side would not even hear it.’

  ‘Horns. Each group has a trumpeter. As soon as you are attacked, sound the horn, and the other groups will converge on you. They will only attack when you are getting near to their camp, so we shall use you as bait.’

  He watched in satisfaction as Jennar blanched at his words.

  ‘Sir, I must protest! I could lose half my men in there!’

  ‘Any sacrifice is worth it, to find the Dragon Sword and the Queen,’ Havrick told him with relish. ‘Now, organise your men. I want you searching before the day is out. Or you can refuse, and I’ll have you sent back in chains for the Duke to rule on
your treasonous behaviour.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Jennar saluted impeccably. ‘What about supplies? If we are to stay in the field, we shall need supplies each day.’

  Havrick thought about this one. ‘Use this area as your base camp. I’ll clear a trail to here and then you can use a company of light cavalry to help carry supplies further in.’

  ‘And if we get too far away to carry supplies in each day?’

  ‘Then we move your camp. Now hurry, Lieutenant, time is wasting!’

  Havrick stalked back out of the woods, along with his cavalry officers, so he could start the men felling trees and clearing bushes. He expected to lose a few groups of infantry but once he knew where the camp was, he could send his cavalry in after them. But he had no intention of letting Jennar receive any credit after the officer’s reluctance to sacrifice himself and his men for victory. Besides, once the wizards got here, they might be able to follow a magical trail all the way back to Barrett. He congratulated himself on his own brilliance.

  It was the birds who brought word of the advance first. Once Barrett had heard of the search, he sent dozens of birds out to look at what was happening, helped by Karia. It meant they were swiftly able to get a clear picture of what they were facing. Merren called a war council and they pored over a map of the area.

  ‘We should find a good defensive spot and then smash them. Between the Dragon Sword and the wizard, they will not stand a chance against us,’ Rocus declared.

  ‘We’ll be slaughtered!’ Wime said succintly.

  ‘We could just cut and run. Let them find our hideout after we’ve gone,’ Tarik offered.

  ‘March around with all the weapons we’ve stolen? With women and kids?’ Conal groaned.

  Merren cut through the talk. ‘Captain, what is your plan?’

  ‘We must lead them away from here. These tactics are unusual. Most commanders are not so eager to sacrifice their men like this. If we attack the group that is closest to us, then they will send all the other groups swarming around until they find us. Well, we shall attack the one furthest away, to draw them away from us. We do that a few times, and soon they’ll just be searching the woods miles from here.’

  ‘This will mean some hard marching,’ Rocus said mournfully, looking at the map.

  Barrett shifted in his seat. ‘I think you’ll find that, thanks to me, we’ll be able to make it more of an easy walk,’ he told them smugly.

  Martil felt a flicker of irritation that the wizard had jumped in without being asked, but he quelled it.

  ‘Get your men fed and rested.’

  The three officers left, but Merren held the others back.

  ‘There was more news,’ she said quietly. ‘Sendric?’

  ‘It seems that Havrick’s retribution for the attack on his convoy was to let his men loose on the town. I’ll be travelling back there to check on what happened. If what we heard was correct, there were many evil deeds committed last night,’ Sendric declared.

  Martil smiled. ‘We should look on it with gratitude. At this rate, Gello will be doing our work for us, by turning the country against himself.’

  Merren nodded. ‘I had hoped men would be rallying to us by now. But we will take recruits however we can get them.’

  Martil spent the rest of the day playing with Karia, who not only loved ball and card games but wanted him to walk through the woods with her, so she could show him what she had learnt. Despite himself, Martil had to admit she was becoming very good. Wolves were happy to come up and have their tummies rubbed, small wild strawberries were able to bloom and supply fruit when they should be dying back, and she could bring the birds down out of the trees to talk to her.

  ‘Can I come with you?’ she asked, predictably, as they walked back. ‘I could help. You’ve seen how good I’m getting.’

  Martil froze at the thought.

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ he sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose I can look after Merren for you. She needs my advice.’

  ‘She needs your advice? What have you been telling her?’ Martil asked cautiously.

  ‘Oh, just how I manage to get you and Barrett to do nice things for me,’ she said, waving at a small plant until it flowered, allowing her to pick three pink, sweet-smelling blooms.

  Martil groaned inwardly. That was all he needed. A pack of Berellian axemen would probably be easier to handle than those two working together.

  16

  Martil led the men out the next morning. He had been a little nervous to see Karia and Merren wave him goodbye, standing hand in hand. Still, it was a good feeling as well. He could almost imagine he was just off for a day’s hunting. But his mood was swiftly spoiled by the men.

  Rocus was complaining that his guards had been forced to leave their mail armour behind, and that they were each carrying a spare arrow sheaf for the archers. But Martil had been definite about both. The mail was too heavy for forced marches and the archers would be key to victory in any ambush. Making sure they had enough arrows was vital.

  Tarik and his hunters were sulking.

  ‘The wizard takes all the skill out of things,’ Tarik had grumbled to Martil. ‘A man spends forty years learning how to move through woods unseen, how to track and how to tell direction, then along comes a wizard and makes it as easy as walking along a city street!’

  As for Barrett, he wanted to play a bigger part in the ambush.

  ‘I think I showed you how valuable I could be in a fight. Few could possibly stand against me,’ he told Martil. ‘Moving through the forest, talking to the birds, these are things that take but little energy.’

  ‘After all that magic use, can you still use that trick of yours to jump us from tree to tree, so we can disappear in one place and appear miles away?’

  ‘Probably,’ Barrett hedged. ‘Anyway, it is not a trick, it is an incredibly difficult piece of magic…’

  ‘This is why I can’t take the risk of you becoming tired. Any of us can kill Havrick’s soldiers. You are the only one who can do magic.’

  Barrett accepted this, although he was clearly not happy. Martil could not wait for the fighting to start. At least then, everybody would forget about their complaints.

  Jennar looked at the slaughtered remains of his men and swore softly. He did not know who to hate more: the men who had done this or the man really responsible, Havrick. The news one of his groups had been wiped out had reached him only slowly. Then it took him time to concentrate his groups around the site of the attack, out on his right flank.

  ‘They had archers up there, then a force of swordsmen took the remaining men in the flank,’ one of the scouts reported. ‘They didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Your orders, sir?’ one of his junior lieutenants asked.

  ‘Same as before. But we must create a new search pattern, based on this attack, as it must have been the group closest to their camp.’

  ‘What if that’s what they want us to think?’ an old sergeant asked.

  Jennar smiled at the man, a tough veteran called Gillen.

  ‘I might be tempted to agree with you, but then that would mean we should search in the opposite direction. A man could go crazy doing that. Now let’s begin the search again, but try and stay close to your next group. And be prepared for an ambush at any moment.’ Jennar knew he was ensuring slow progress—and that would infuriate Havrick—but he could not force his men to march to their deaths.

  Martil had sent four of the guardsmen back, laden with captured swords. He did not need them to ambush twenty men. The first attack had been almost too easy—the hardest thing had been keeping the trumpeter alive long enough to find out what calls they were using. He reckoned one more attack, again at the group at the very end of their line, which was far to the east of their camp, should be enough to ensure their search pattern would miss the caves by several miles. This second attack would be more difficult. The soldiers would be alert. But he had Barrett, who was able to provide him w
ith an accurate picture of where the groups were. If he could just get him to concentrate on the task at hand.

  ‘I know you did not want me to fight, but I think you should try not to fight, either,’ the wizard said quietly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Martil bristled instantly.

  ‘The Dragon Sword is not winning men over to our side. It should be. Perhaps if you stop killing, then it might start working. We need you to be a good man.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say, a good man is made by a good woman,’ Martil told him, hoping that would make him shut up.

  Barrett rounded on him angrily, although he kept his voice low.

  ‘Do not even joke about that!’

  ‘Feeling worried?’ Martil asked, amused and a little pleased he had got through to the arrogant wizard.

  ‘Aye—for our cause. Did you ever think what would happen if you make her reject you? Would you stay then? Would you fight for her if she told you that you could never be more than her Champion?’

  ‘Who says she’ll reject me?’ Martil challenged.

  ‘She has to,’ Barrett said coldly. ‘The welfare of her people must come before herself. Don’t you understand what is at stake here?’

  Martil looked hard at the wizard. ‘Of course I do. I’m the one that’s going to die if we don’t win, right? But what about you? Won’t you just go off somewhere and earn a pile of gold with your magic?’

  Barrett’s jaw tightened. ‘If I wanted to do that, do you think I would be sleeping in a cave, and running around after a bunch of sweaty, stupid soldiers, led by a sheep-shagging Ralloran with an over-inflated idea of his own ability?’

  At another time, Martil would have exploded. But fighting Havrick’s men had drained him of anger. Besides, he was in a similar position to the wizard. ‘I tell you what. I promise to use every bit of your magic power that I can to make sure we win. Agreed?’