Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer

by A. C. Hutchinson

  “My place is here,” Natasha said. “What message will it give to our people if I flee and hide away until the war is over?”

  “Our walls are high,” Frederick said. “Unlike Kingstown, we have a moat and an army twenty-five thousand strong. Let them come, they will not defeat us.”

  “I wish I were so confident,” Merek said. “Lictina must go.”

  “She will not be happy,” Natasha said. “And nor will I.”

  “We could hide her in the dungeons, beneath the tower,” Ives said.

  “To live her life in darkness?” Merek said. “Hiding for the fear of being caught. You know they'd find her eventually, anyway. No, she must be sent far away, to lands to the west, beyond Kingstown.”

  “I can arrange an escort,” Frederick said, “but King Bahlinger would have to agree to this. The lands west of Kingstown and the harbour itself are watched. We could take her secretly, under the cover of night, but the guards Lictina will require will still arouse suspicion.”

  There are echoes of what happened to Elysande here, Merek thought. He pictured the bloodied body of his murdered sister.

  “Of course, if Bahlinger were agreeable, we could take her to Kingstown itself,” Adam said.

  “No,” Merek said with little pause for thought. “I won't have him looking after my daughter. Let's not forget the wizard bearer was taken on his watch.”

  “We shall visit Kingstown on the morrow, then,” Adam said. “One of the terms of our involvement will be that Lictina is allowed safe passage to the lands to the west, where we will hide her away until the war is over.”

  “I can have a galley ready, in the harbour,” Frederick said. “If Kingstown falls then I'll have a crew take her to sea.”

  “Then where?” Natasha said. There was a tear welling in her dark eyes.

  “Somewhere war has not touched, Ma'am.”

  Natasha wiped the tear away with the back of her hand.

  “And what of the war itself?” Adam said. “We need a plan. How can we stop Volk's advance on so many fronts?”

  Frederick stood and studied the map on the table.

  “We put ten thousand men to the north and ten thousand to the south. Of course, that could bring Volk's men down the Great Road straight to our door instead.”

  “That would leave just a few thousand men to defend our city,” Merek said. He was somewhat sceptical of this plan. The Grand Master had proved himself with his tactical astuteness on many occasion, but he could also take unnecessary risks.

  “We'd have archers to defend us. Much of the Great Road is bordered by trees – that's where we'd place the archers. We'd have Volk's men in a trap, especially as they'd be weakened from our initial battles here and here.” Frederick pointed to two places on the map, one to the north and one to the south.

  “You're assuming we'd beat them on the battlefield.”

  “I can accept no other conclusion, Sire.”

  Merek rubbed his stubble. “It's a big gamble. Do we even know how many men are fighting for Volk?”

  “Some claim two hundred thousand, at least,” Ives said.

  “That's rubbish,” Adam scoffed.

  “Half that would be an over estimate,” Frederick said. “First rule of battle is to scare your enemy. It's just idle talk spread by word of mouth to make us yield.”

  “I think you're underestimating how many town-folk have already yielded, Frederick—”

  “I do not underestimate anything.”

  Merek stood. The moon was high. The hour is late. It's time.

  “I'm needed at the east gate,” he said. “Frederick, will you accompany me?”

  Frederick nodded, bemused.

  “Bring ten of your best men.”

  Then came a small voice: “Are we at war, Daddy?”

  Merek turned to see his daughter standing in the doorway, her dark hair ruffled from sleep and a doll hanging from her right hand. How much did she hear?

  “That's nothing for you to worry about, dear,” Merek said, beckoning her to him.

  She walked to him, rubbing her eyes. He hugged her tightly.

  “What are you doing up, Lictina?” Natasha said in her motherly tone.

  “I couldn't sleep.”

  “Stay here with you mother,” the king said, pushing his daughter towards Natasha's embrace. “I need to be somewhere.”

  Merek turned to leave, but Natasha grabbed his wrist.

  “Be careful,” she said. “If there’s any sign of trouble, close the gates.”

  “There's no need to worry.” He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. Then he left the room with Frederick at his heels.

  Outside, the temperature had plummeted further, freezing the snow. It crunched under the king's boots as he walked through the streets towards the east gate, flanked by ten guards. Frederick walked beside him. The streetlamps had long been extinguished and only moonlight lit the way.

  “I'll have the archers gather atop the wall, Sire,” Frederick said.

  On reaching the east gate, the gatekeeper, an old man named Ronald Neot, was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, fast asleep. One of the guards kicked him awake. He snorted, fluttered his eyelids, and then strained his eyes to see. When he saw the king standing in front of him he scrambled to his feet quicker than a rabbit fleeing the jaws of a wild dog.

  “I'm so sorry,” Ronald Neot said, his voice croaky with sleep. “What must you think of me?” He wiped snow from the back of his trousers and then stood, puffing his chest out, like a soldier on parade.

  “The king should be looking for a new gatekeeper,” the guard who had kicked him said.

  “I've been doing this job for twenty-six years. The first time I fall asleep on the job and the king comes calling. How about that for bad luck, eh?”

  “Well that's strange,” the guard said, “because I've heard that children often pick your pockets during your regular naps.”

  “Then you should've reported it to me,” Merek said to the guard. “Perhaps we're working you too hard, Ronald. I'll see that you have someone to share your shifts with.”

  “Will that mean less money, Your Majesty?”

  “You'll remain on the same pay, old man. You need not worry. Now, can we have the gate opened, please?”

  “At this hour?”

  “I have reason to believe we are expecting someone. Don't worry, we have the gate covered.” Merek pointed to the top of the wall. Ronald gawped at the line of archers he saw there.

  “What have I missed?” Ronald said.

  “Nothing, yet.”

  “Come on, old man,” Frederick said. “Let's have this gate open and the drawbridge down.”

  The gatekeeper shuffled about his business, taking time enough. But the king was patient, letting the old man methodically perform his duty. He's been doing this job for twenty-six years, the least I can do is leave him alone while he does it.

  When the gate was finally opened, the portcullis raised, and the drawbridge lowered, the night stared back at Merek like a gaping mouth; only the king wasn't sure what would come up from the depths of its belly.

  “All right, men,” Frederick shouted. “Take your positions.”

  On top of the wall, the archers disappeared to take their places. Around Merek, men unsheathed their blades and raised their wooden shields. Somewhere an owl hooted and there was the gentle whistle of the wind, but other than that the night was a quiet observer.

  “How long do we wait?” Frederick whispered in the king's ear.

  “As long as we have to,” Merek replied.

  Ronald Neot shuffled to the king, back hunched, keys rattling about his belt.

  “The night is black, Your Majesty,” he said. His voice was less croaky than it was before. “We'd see nowt, despite the moon and the snow glow, until it were upon us. Shut the gate, I say.”

  Merek ignored him. He felt a chill in his toes and longed for the warmth of his bed, with Natasha by his side to warm him further. I'
ll give it a bit longer, he thought. Mama Maud is always right. Even if whatever is out there has come to kill me, it will be for the good. Mama Maud knows what's right.

  Just as the king was losing hope, something emerged from the night.

  CHAPTER 28

  They were losing him. Christian Santiago knew that as well as any one of those siting in the sleigh with him. Fabian's skin was grey, his face expressionless, his breathing shallow. Christian had seen dead men prior to this journey. When he'd fled Staddlethorpe after the attack, he'd found a dead man at the side of the road who had been robbed of all possessions but his clothes. That man's skin had been as white as milk and puffy, too. The great wizard looked only marginally better than that robbed man. Death is coming, Christian thought with sadness.

  The wizard bearer wept for her great-uncle. Christian longed to comfort her. She was beautiful, just like he’d heard it said. Cassandra will probably think I'm just a silly little boy, though, he thought.

  The sleigh was full of people who had known the wizard for many years: Fabian's dear friends, Hugo and Poppy Peas; his battle companion, The Dark Rider; his niece and nephew, Cassandra and Gladden. Only Marcus Delorous was as unfamiliar to the wizard as Christian was. I would like to have known Fabian better, Christian thought. Wizards are a beacon of all that's good and right. Although Eaglen has proved himself to be the exception to the rule.

  They had been travelling for hours with the white landscape drifting by under the cold light of the moon, which was tinged a crimson red, Christian noticed. A blood moon, for blood spilled. He had fallen asleep twice, only to wake moments later in a panic. I won't sleep properly until I have four walls around me.

  He was glad when he heard the young wizard shout: “Light up ahead.”

  A soft, orange glow coloured the horizon. High Hunsley.

  “Let's hope they let us in,” Cassandra said. “And quickly. Fabian's so cold.” She held the wizard's hand in both of hers in a feeble attempt to warm it.

  Christian looked to the darkness they were leaving behind with relief. Twice they had glimpsed wild dogs tracking the sleigh. Both times Gladden had lit his staff, frightening them away. But they would return, Christian knew. He looked to the glow in front of the sleigh as it grew ever closer. I hope King Merek lets us in this time.

  “The gate is open, the drawbridge down,” Gladden shouted over his shoulder. Christian smiled.

  “Take us inside,” Stetland said. “Don't wait.”

  “But the archers?” Marcus said. “We were not welcome last time.”

  “Something tells me this time will be different.”

  As the sleigh approached the gate, Christian noticed figures standing in the gateway and archers on the wall. They are expecting someone.

  Gladden didn't slow the horse as they went over the drawbridge. The sleigh's wooden blades scraped along the heavy oak. Then they were inside the city proper. Gladden pulled up the horse and the sleigh came to a halt. Men gathered around them, swords raised, shields covering their bodies.

  A man with a dark, closely cropped beard stepped forward.

  “Cassandra Delamare, am I pleased to see you,” the man said.

  Stetland stood. “King Merek, we're glad to see you too.”

  The guards that had gathered around them lowered their shields.

  “Close the gate, raise the drawbridge,” King Merek shouted.

  “Fabian is ill,” Stetland said. “We need to get him inside.”

  Christian had never been in a castle before. It was grand beyond his wildest imaginations. Two guards carried Fabian through halls, down corridors and eventually up stone steps to a candle-lit room on the first floor. A four-poster bed with red silk sheets was the room's only furniture. The guards carried Fabian to the bed and laid him upon it. Cassandra covered him with the sheets.

  “Do you have any furs?” Cassandra said to the king. “He's very cold.”

  “I'll have some sent up,” King Merek said. “I'll send for the physician, as well.” Then he turned to Stetland. “Will you accompany me to the Great Hall, Stetland? We have much to discuss.” The Dark Rider glanced towards the bed, perhaps unsure as to whether to leave Fabian's side. “The wizard will be well looked after. Our physician is the best in the land. We will return here when our business is done.”

  Stetland took Cassandra's hand. “If his condition worsens, send for me.”

  “I can't imagine his condition could get much worse,” Cassandra said. “But, yes, I will, of course.”

  “Young man,” the king said, putting his arm around Christian's shoulder. “Do you want to come with us? I have a daughter of a similar age to you. Would you like to meet her?”

  Christian wanted to stay with Fabian and be around the people he knew. But maybe I've seen too much death. Reluctantly, he nodded.

  “Shall I come too?” Marcus said.

  The young soldier looked expectantly at Stetland. He'll be hurt if Stetland says no, Christian thought. Perhaps the Dark Rider saw it too, for he said: “Yes, I think you should.”

  As Christian left the room he stopped and turned back to look at the four-poster bed. Hugo, Poppy, Cassandra and Gladden were gathered around it. Quiggly was sitting on Fabian's chest, crying like an injured dog.

  On the landing, the Grand Master was waiting. “How is he?” He nodded towards the bed.

  “Not well,” the king said. Then, to one of the guards: “Send for the physician and ask a servant to bring sheepskins and cups of hot wine.”

  The guard nodded and then disappeared down the corridor.

  The king set off in the opposite direction, with the Grand Master and Stetland close behind. Marcus ruffled Christian's hair and then followed too. They walked down steps and through more stone-walled corridors. Torches flickered in sconces, casting strange shadows about the walls. Christian thought about being down here alone and shuddered. He quickened his step to keep up with Marcus. Soon they arrived in a large hall, grand and well lit. The Great Hall. At the far side of the room, three people were sitting around a table. They stood as the king approached.

  “Stetland, you know these people, of course,” the king said. “Marcus, this is my wife Natasha, my steward Ives Wissant, and my chamberlain Adam Sacquerville.”

  “A man wearing the colour of Elt inside our Great Hall is a strange sight indeed,” Ives Wissant said, holding his hand out to Marcus.

  Christian was awestruck by the queen's beauty. As he was introduced to her he felt his cheeks flush with colour. Then, Merek looked over Christian’s shoulder.

  “Lictina,” the king called. “Let me introduce you to Christian.”

  Christian turned to see a girl of about twelve with the same long, dark hair as her mother. A fresh warmth filled his cheeks.

  “Hello, Christian,” Lictina said. “Do you want to play a game of knucklebones with me?”

  Christian nodded. He knew that if he talked his voice would come out all wrong.

  Lictina – a princess – dropped to her knees. She opened a small pouch and emptied bones onto the stone floor. She plucked a doll from under her arm and placed it next to the bones as if it were to play the game with them. The doll had long, dark hair and rosy red cheeks and wore a silky white gown.

  “I don't often play with other children,” Lictina said. “I have two older brothers, but they are never around. I would've had a younger sister, but she died an hour after birth. Mother tried to make more babies, but each time she did she bled. So, I'm the youngest. How about you? Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  Christian opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Lictina stared at him until he found his voice. “I'm an only child.”

  “That's strange,” Lictina said, gathering the bones. “There are not many like you. Mother said that people in High Hunsley have too many children. She says they should try playing games. That would stop them making babies, she said. I'm not sure how that would help, really.”

  Christian realised how little Lictina
knew about the world. Perhaps that's the best way to be, he thought, to have a childhood. I've seen much that I can't unsee. He thought about Tarquin Gains and what he did to his wife upon the kitchen floor.

  At the table, he heard the king talking: “Please, Stetland, tell us what happened, from the very beginning.”

  Stetland began recounting their tale, much of which Christian already knew. He placed the bottle of fire-water Eaglen had dropped in the snow on the table top and told them all to be very careful with it. The chamberlain told the Dark Rider that they had found a bird with a note attached to its foot. “There are archers on the hills, shooting down birds. No messages are getting through.”

  Lictina was talking again, something about her doll and how she didn't know what to call her, when a strong headache caused Christian to wince.

  “Are you all right?” Lictina said.

  Christian was unable to answer as the pain had rendered him incapable. The ache in his head was intensifying, too, like he was being repeatedly stabbed there with a sharp knife. Then he heard voices. Voices full of pain. And I know to whom they belong.

  “Father,” Lictina was shouting. “There's something wrong with the boy.”

  When the pain in Christian's head finally ebbed away, he opened his eyes. Stetland filled his vision.

  “Christian?” Stetland urged. He had the boy by the shoulders. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  “It's the monks,” Christian said with a tear rolling down his cheek.

  “The monks? You mean the Monks of the Night?”

  “Yes. They're dead. All of them. Slain, in the tunnel.”

  “Is the boy a seer, Mummy?” Lictina said.

  “Yes, dear,” said Queen Natasha. “What does this mean, Stetland? Who killed them? I don't care much for monks, but their history is entwined with ours. Do you think it's Volk's men? Perhaps it's punishment for letting you through our gates.”