The Wounded Guardian

by Duncan Lay

  ‘My Queen…’ Barrett burst out.

  ‘I know,’ Merren said gently. ‘But let us remember why we are fighting. If men repent, and prove themselves, then they deserve a second chance. Any that agree to serve with us must first speak with Father Quiller and yourself. If you both agree they are genuine, they may join us. We will not have men who are not truly repentant. Equally, we cannot sit in judgement on men without first giving them that chance. That is my decision. Go now, Martil, and we shall take a short break, to discuss other punishments for these men. But address them all together, not separately. We do not have the time to waste on this.’

  Martil bowed and hurried out. He understood how Barrett felt and, in truth, he did not want to lead Havrick’s men. But he knew how easy it was to get caught up in what your comrades were doing, how quickly you could do something evil—and how long it would take to regret it. With the memories of the recent battle so fresh and painful in his mind, he had to at least see if these men felt as he did.

  Barrett waited only just long enough to see Martil out of the room before hurrying over to Merren’s side.

  ‘My Queen, have you thought this through to its logical conclusion? I mean, naturally we owe Martil for what he achieved, but to think of having so many men like that in our army…’

  Merren cut him off and moved him down to the far end of the room, out of earshot. ‘Barrett, I know exactly what I am doing.’ She looked at the wizard for a long moment, then sighed. ‘Surely you have noticed what that battle did to Martil. He thinks he is little better than Havrick or Gello. What I am doing now is all part of a scheme to convince Martil he is a better man. By speaking to them together, the pack mentality will rule. There is no way any of them, even those who genuinely regret what they did, will break ranks with their comrades. Martil’s attempt to influence the captured cavalrymen, back at the farm, convinced me of that. So we will still be able to deal with those soldiers as we wish. Meanwhile, Martil will feel relieved that he was able to offer them a second chance. At the moment he is identifying with those men. When they refuse a chance he would have taken, he will know he is a better man than them and perhaps this will help him work with the Sword a little more. It may also help him come to terms with that battle. That result is worth the gamble.’

  Barrett bowed deeply. The way her mind worked! He loved her for that. And the thought she was manipulating that oafish Ralloran made his heart feel warm. More than ever he wanted to tell her his true feelings, about how he had loved her in secret for years. ‘Your majesty, can I just say I am in awe of the way your mind works. It is one of only many things I admire about you…’

  Merren touched his cheek with her hand. ‘Barrett, I thank you. But this is not the time to talk about such things. We must finish our discussion on punishment for Havrick’s men before Martil returns.’

  Barrett nodded in agreement, although all he could think about was the way her hand had felt when she touched his face.

  It took a while to bring all the soldiers out of the crowded dungeon and assemble them in the courtyard, under the watchful eye of Tarik and his archers. Chained, hungry and dirty, they stared mutely or belligerently as Martil climbed onto a wagon and spoke to them.

  ‘I am Captain Martil, known by some as a Butcher of Bellic. That means I was responsible for crimes far worse than the ones many of you have committed. Right now, the Queen and her counsellors debate your punishment. Although you should all know the Norstaline law: rapists and murderers will hang, thieves and arsonists will go to prison. But I offer you another choice. On my hands are more deaths of innocents than all of you put together. Yet I am the Queen’s Champion. I cannot atone for the evil I have done. But I can try. So I say to you: join me. Fight against Gello and you will be freed of your chains. Your crimes will not be forgiven, but they will be forgotten, if you truly regret what was done and want to build a better Norstalos.’

  He paused to let that sink in. ‘Who is ashamed of what they have done, and wishes to join me?’

  ‘If we wanted atonement, we would have called for a priest,’ one man yelled.

  ‘You have no right to judge us! We are soldiers of the Duke,’ another roared.

  They seemed to like this, and many took it up.

  ‘We do not recognise your slut of a queen! She is not the real ruler! Anyone who helps her is a traitor to Norstalos!’ one man bellowed, and many cheered this.

  ‘We did nothing wrong! Traitors deserve everything they get, and this whole town has turned traitor to the Duke!’

  Martil waited for the uproar to die down. He looked sadly at the shouting men. The mentality of the mob had taken over. Perhaps if he had spoken to each individual man…he cut that thought off. If these men had truly been ashamed of their crimes then nothing could have stopped them from saying so. But he also wondered at the way Gello had managed to pervert the Norstaline sense of superiority to the point where these men believed rape and murder of their own people was justified. Had Gello prepared them to resist the pull of the Dragon Sword? Even if not, he had certainly ensured their loyalty. Clearly, he was not going to persuade them to turn their back on Gello.

  ‘This is your last chance. Will you join me?’ he shouted.

  The howls of protest that followed made him jump down off the cart.

  ‘Take them back,’ he sighed to Tarik.

  ‘You tried, sir. But what can you do with a bunch of arrogant bastards who think they deserve to rule the world? Most of them believe the Duke will rescue them before anything can happen,’ Tarik shrugged.

  ‘Why don’t you think the way they do?’ Martil asked, mystified by their attitude.

  Tarik grinned. ‘Guess I’m not part of the upper class. Just a peasant, me. Never went to a fancy school where they teach that murder is all right as long as it’s for Norstalos. And unlike those boys, I’m too smart to believe that “Norstalos is blessed” line when upper-class fools preach it at me all day long.’

  Martil smiled. It was strange but he did not feel as bad now. Maybe Merren was right. It was with a lighter heart that he walked back upstairs and reported that not one would join up.

  ‘We come again to the issue of punishment,’ he finished. ‘These men will not join us but I must warn you that without converting any of Gello’s forces to our side, there is no way we can gather enough men to defeat him within a year.’

  There was silence at this. All there knew of the Queen’s wish, that they raise her standard and declare the Dragon Sword, as well as the formation of a New Norstalos. Then those who wished to help her would rally round and she could march on the capital. But they also knew how many men Gello had, and how few they had. Everyone knew how hard it had been to defeat less than one regiment of soldiers. How would they fare against ten times as many?

  ‘Nevertheless, we must hold firm to the rule of law. To do otherwise will make a mockery of what we are trying to achieve,’ Merren said heavily.

  Martil bowed slightly, for his wounds were still sore, and healing slowly.

  ‘So we kill them all?’

  Merren sighed. ‘No, I think I have a better solution. Count Sendric and the newly-formed town council will pass sentence, as would be done in times of peace. If the town passes justice, then it will serve as a warning to Gello’s men that we will not tolerate attacks on ordinary people. They will not be executed. Instead, each will lose their right hand. They will live, but they will never fight against us.’

  ‘And the thieves and arsonists?’

  ‘Now we have control of Sendric, my mind naturally turned to the mines in the north. Apart from the gold and silver they supply, I had imagined they could offer recruits for our cause—for each one has a guard company, to protect them from possible goblin attacks. But, on reading the manifests, it appears these guard companies are made up of Avish mercenaries.’ She smiled grimly. ‘It seems while our inns are guarded by Rallorans, our mines are protected by Avish. So I sent a message to the north, using Barrett’s birds. The
Avish do not want to exchange well-paid guard duty for another war—and refuse to serve a Ralloran. But the mine owners would be pleased to get more workers—and already have the guards to watch them. So we shall chain the thieves and arsonists and send them north to work in the mines. They will not be able to escape. And once we have taken back the country, we can look at them again.’

  ‘And the ones who are innocent?’ Barrett asked.

  ‘They will serve the town—in chains, until they earn trust.’

  Martil nodded. It was a masterly compromise and one he approved of. But it would not solve their manpower shortage.

  The sentence was carried out swiftly. There was no shortage of volunteers who wanted to help cut the hands off the convicted soldiers, something Merren found vaguely disturbing. The men had their wounds sealed with hot pitch, then were allowed to rest under the supervision of healers for three days before being sent south back to Gello.

  Meanwhile, Rocus took his guardsmen and escorted the thieves and arsonists north. The prisoners wore heavy chains around their legs and necks, so it would be a long trip to the mines in the hills. Rocus took horses so he and his men could return swiftly but they expected to be away for at least a week, probably longer.

  The ones judged innocent were ‘lucky’ enough to be imprisoned in the dungeons, which were only slightly overcrowded. From here, small groups were made to go out and work in the fields, to try and help farms now stripped of farmers, while others cleaned and repaired armour. Martil knew this would mean few soldiers would want to surrender from now on, but perhaps few would be so eager to kill and rape their own people.

  Men were coming in to join the rebellion, but it was hardly a flood. A handful a day, mainly farmers and villagers from the nearby districts, who feared the retribution of Gello.

  But there were barely enough men to hold the town—and the maps of northern Norstalos supplied little cheer. It was an impossible problem. Victory in Sendric had not improved their position much.

  ‘We know from Barrett’s feathered friends that Gello has cut us off by blocking these passes.’ Martil marked how the northeast had been neatly separated from the rest of Norstalos.

  ‘Not entirely. Men can still get over those hills, it’s just that an army could never bring supplies, as wagons could not make it,’ Sendric pointed out.

  ‘Still, I think we can discount any help from the south,’ Martil sighed. ‘The only other men are in the two northern towns of Berry and Gerrin. But they both have garrisons. We cannot take enough men to capture those towns, and still leave enough men to defend Sendric. But if we do nothing, we will eventually be destroyed. Gello knows where we are. Once he is sure we are not creating a huge army, he will send his regiments north to smash us.’

  Merren threw up her hands in disgust. ‘So what do we do? Will raising my standard help bring men in? Or should we postpone that?’ she snapped. ‘I am beginning to think we are going about this the wrong way. After all, why are we so concerned with what the nobles are doing? They have not supported me in the past. We need to go past the nobles and appeal directly to the ordinary people. I feel victory lies with them. Perhaps if we can get the church to help…’ she trailed off as Karia wandered into the audience chamber, a large crow on her arm.

  ‘Karia!’ Martil exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

  ‘I know, I should be resting, but I was bored, so I called to this bird. And he’s been telling me there’s all these men in armour riding towards the town,’ she said calmly. ‘So I thought you’d like to know.’

  Everyone looked at Barrett, who had gone white.

  ‘It can’t be possible,’ he gasped.

  ‘Well, don’t make excuses—check it!’ Conal growled.

  Barrett glared at him, then gestured to the crow. It flew over to his hand and cawed softly.

  Everyone held their breath until Barrett turned to them.

  ‘The bird has seen something. It’s hard to gauge the numbers accurately, for they neither see like us, nor think like us. But I’d say there’s more than one thousand men there.’

  The chamber erupted into pandemonium, with everyone demanding answers.

  ‘Quiet!’ Merren roared, and silence fell once more. ‘How close are they?’

  Barrett gulped. ‘I would say barely half a day’s ride from the town. I shall try to find out more.’ He stroked the crow’s head, then carried it to a nearby window, allowing it to fly out.

  Merren stood. ‘Then we must make ready. Captain Martil, can we hold the walls this time?’

  Martil thought swiftly. ‘We shall have to. This force is too large to let into the town. And doubtless they have been apprised of how we defeated Havrick’s attack. They will not fall for the same trick twice.’

  ‘Then we must arm the people and man the walls,’ she said calmly. ‘Gentlemen, time is short. Muster your men now.’

  Martil watched the others go, and felt sick to the stomach.

  ‘Perhaps we should use the secret passage out of here,’ he suggested, once he and Merren were alone but for Karia.

  ‘We cannot leave the townsfolk to die. We must trust in their spirit.’ Merren tried to smile, but it was brittle.

  Martil thought of Rocus and his men, still escorting the convicted soldiers north, and sighed. That last battle had been so brutal, so hard. And now they would have to do it again. How had Gello managed to get a regiment so far north unseen?

  Merren walked over to him.

  ‘Can we win this one?’ she asked softly.

  Martil wanted to lie, but could not. ‘I doubt it, Merren. With one thousand men, they could launch two attacks, one at the gate and one at the wall. We only have enough men to turn back one. The other will get inside and then it will be slaughter.’

  She turned away. Without thinking, he followed her and put his arms around her.

  She turned in his arms, so she was facing him. ‘If they get in, will you…will you,’ she paused, unable to go on, and gestured at the Dragon Sword. ‘I will not be dragged before Gello in chains, to be abused and killed like my poor friends.’

  Martil felt his despair slide away, to be replaced by anger. ‘We are not finished yet,’ he growled. ‘Perhaps they are cavalry, who might be tricked. Karia, did the crow tell you what banner they were holding?’

  Karia, who had been tucking into the refreshments, stopped guiltily.

  ‘It was a funny one. A golden horse above some plant, on a green background. It sounded pretty.’

  Martil let go of Merren and stared at Karia in shock.

  ‘Isn’t that good? Surely a horse means they are cavalry?’ Merren said.

  But Martil had grabbed a quill and was hastily scratching out a design on the map on the table.

  ‘Was it like that? The banner? Was it that?’ he demanded.

  Karia looked at it critically. ‘I think so,’ she finally agreed. ‘Crows aren’t that good at describing things, you know.’

  Martil turned to Merren, a strange expression on his face.

  ‘What is it?’ she demanded.

  ‘That was my regiment’s personal banner,’ he said slowly, disbelievingly. ‘The horse over a sheaf of wheat, as a nod to my farming background. I wanted to have a sheep, for we had a sheep farm, but Tomon told me nobody would fight under the banner of a sheep.’

  ‘Your banner? What does that mean?’ Merren demanded.

  Martil picked up Karia, who made a grab for an oatcake just in time, so she could keep eating.

  ‘Let’s go and find out,’ he said.

  Barrett confirmed the design of the banner, and word swiftly spread. The despair that had gripped the town turned to wonder, and all crowded onto the walls to watch the small army of men ride into sight.

  They stopped, just out of bowshot of the town, and a lead group, about a score of men, dismounted, then walked forward, the banner and a flag of truce held aloft. Martil rode out on Tomon, along with a dozen men in armour. Merren, Father Quiller, Barrett and Karia stayed in the
safety of the gate while, above, Tarik and his archers waited with arrows on their strings. But there was no need for that.

  As soon as Martil reined in Tomon, the men removed their helms and dropped to one knee in unison.

  ‘Sergeant Nerrin!’ Martil exclaimed, jumping down from the saddle and striding over to the smiling Ralloran.

  ‘Yes, Captain?’

  ‘Sergeant, I won’t deny that you are indeed a welcome sight, but what are you doing here?’ Martil looked across and recognised the men kneeling with Nerrin—it was the caravan guard he had stopped Rocus from fighting, before the battle, as well as the guards he had met back in Wollin and at the Golden Gate. He caught the eye of Corporal Kesbury, who winked at him. ‘I thought I sent you away.’

  ‘Sir, you ordered me to walk away from your last battle. We obeyed that order but we could not leave Captain Martil to fight alone. We followed you into Berellia, we will follow you anywhere.’

  ‘But how did you…’

  ‘We put the word out, and men came running. Let’s just say it will be difficult to hire caravan guards or stop bar fights for the next few months. The bards are telling the people only what Gello wants them to hear but we have seen what Duke Gello is doing to the rest of the country. We know he is no friend of Rallorans and we wanted to see the Queen that you would champion. We also wanted…’ Nerrin paused for a moment before meeting Martil’s eyes.

  ‘Sir, you must feel it too. Nothing has been right since Bellic. We drink too much, we can’t sleep for the nightmares. We saved our country, and yet here we are, guarding caravans for rich merchants who despise us, or throwing drunken Norstalines out of taverns at the end of the night. Sir, you will not be ordering us to our deaths; our lives finished after Bellic. You will be giving us another chance at life—to serve a queen who is trying to save her throne…’