Risen Queen

by Duncan Lay

  ‘Wime, we are sure of the information from your man?’ Merren looked at the dependable militiaman.

  ‘On my life, your majesty.’ Wime nodded.

  ‘It will be on all our lives,’ Merren reminded them. ‘So the companies of rangers will be seated across from the archery range, facing towards the targets. The bard will be standing with the targets to his back, facing the men, while the officers, the Berellians and other dignitaries will be seated to the right of the rangers, closest to the barracks’ offices, where they will return for refreshments after the performance.’ She marked out the positions in the dirt.

  ‘We must secure the officers, the Berellians and the dignitaries at the same time as we confront the bard and speak directly to the rangers. Tarik, Wime and Forde will lead most of the men there. Because they are out of a direct sight, we can have them in hand before anyone realises what is happening. Without their officers, the rangers will not act—and myself, Barrett, Sendric and Rocus can win them over, along with the bard. Questions?’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘If it all goes wrong?’ Rocus asked.

  Merren smiled grimly. ‘We’ll meet back here. Get here any way you can and don’t go back for anyone, including me—understood?’

  ‘It won’t come to that, your majesty. We will be triumphant!’ Barrett said immediately.

  She nodded. ‘We move when we see the companies start to assemble on the archery range.’

  Kay had to admit to being a little underwhelmed on meeting the Lord of Bellic. The man was not particularly tall and was remarkably nondescript. His face was clean-shaven and seemed to have no distinguishing features at all. He was dressed in black, with the only hint as to his rank being a golden crest featuring a lion over his left breast. He did not even carry a sword; instead, a pair of daggers was sheathed at his belt, which seemed to feature an unusually large buckle. He also had a strangely shaped belt pouch, both wide and tall. To a bowman such as Kay, it reminded him of a half-size arrow bag. The man was also rather rude, merely nodding when introduced to Kay.

  ‘You must be a remarkable man, to not only have survived such an infamous massacre, but to be able to talk about it,’ Kay said, trying to make conversation. It was an art he had worked on while captain of the Royal Guard.

  ‘Luck, nothing more,’ the Berellian said in a cold voice. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’

  Kay inclined his head, expecting the Berellian to circle around the room, speaking to the other officers, but instead the man walked over to the window, where he stopped, watching the nearby archery training range.

  His entourage, a dozen men, were likewise dressed in black, and less than talkative. They were also well armed, carrying several throwing knives as well as swords and belt pouches similar to their lord’s. Just what they were expecting, Kay did not know.

  ‘They’re a proud people,’ Beq explained with a shrug. ‘They might be our allies but no doubt they don’t trust us. And besides, they probably fear that Rallorans are going to descend on them at any moment! Looking forward to the show?’

  ‘Indeed, sir!’

  If the Berellian lord was a disappointment, then the bard was a welcome relief. Kay had long admired the work of Romon, and had seen him perform numerous times at court. They were soon talking about old acquaintances and laughing, until Beq stepped between them.

  ‘Well, I think it’s about time we started the performance, don’t you? After all, we need to prepare for the march north tomorrow!’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll give the orders,’ Kay agreed, then grinned at Romon. ‘Sorry to interrupt the memories, my friend.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll see you afterwards?’

  One of Tiera’s younger sisters was about the same age as Karia, so she had enjoyed chatting with her on the way back to the chapter house. It was early in the morning and there were few patrols about, so Karia, after being initially shy, had been free to talk about Father Nott, about Martil, ‘the greatest warrior dad in the world!’ and about her teacher, the Queen’s Magician Barrett.

  ‘I wish I had a life as interesting as yours,’ Tiera said ruefully. ‘All I do is wash dishes, wash clothes and clean up after the novices and priests. They might be holy but they’re still smelly.’

  Karia thought that hilarious.

  ‘But that’s all I’ll ever do,’ Tiera sighed.

  ‘You should come back with us,’ Karia said. ‘Merren’s always saying that good people are needed. She says that it’s not who your parents are but what you can do that’s important.’

  Tiera almost stopped walking then. ‘Merren? As in, Queen Merren?’

  ‘That’s her. Do you know her as well?’

  Now it was Tiera’s turn to laugh. ‘Not exactly. Maybe I should come back with you. There’s not much for me here. Aroaril knows, King Gello and Archbishop Prent believe the people beneath them should literally be beneath them,’ she added bitterly.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That they’re not very nice.’ Tiera hastily decided to change the subject. ‘So, what could I do there?’

  ‘Well, you could work for Barrett. He’s the Queen’s Magician, which means he needs people to cook and clean for him because he has to keep all his strength for working magic. Then you could play with me when you get bored.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Tiera said, her attention drifting from the conversation as they neared the chapter house. The front and back entrances were guarded but the door to the servants’ quarters was ignored. After all, the servants were beneath notice.

  She waited for Father Nott and Sister Milly to catch up.

  ‘We’ll go in the front and distract the guards, then you take Martil and his Rallorans up to my room,’ Nott instructed. ‘The guards know me, know that Milly accompanies me out on a walk every morning. I’ll have a chat with them, give you the time to get around the corner.’

  Tiera led the men in through the side entrance unseen, past the washrooms and storerooms and up the back stairs to Nott’s room. She was happy to help, and grateful to both Milly and Nott, but still felt uncomfortable walking up the stairs; she could sense the Rallorans’ eyes as they followed her.

  A pair of novices walked past and bowed their heads. Tiera bobbed hers in return and was relieved to see the Rallorans clumsily copy the move. A quick walk down a corridor and she opened the door to Nott’s room, ushering the soldiers inside to where Nott and Milly waited. The entrance of eleven large men made even the spacious room suddenly seem crowded.

  ‘I have to get back to my duties, the other girls are covering for me. But call for me if you need help and I’ll be back,’ she said.

  The Ralloran that Father Nott had called Martil pushed back his cowl.

  ‘It might be too dangerous for you,’ he warned.

  ‘I’m happy to risk my life. It wouldn’t be worth living if it wasn’t for Sister Milly,’ Tiera said defiantly. ‘Besides, Karia said I could come back with you.’

  Martil turned to Karia, who was trying to look innocent. ‘We shall discuss that later,’ was all he said.

  He waited until the door was shut before pulling off his robe. ‘Can we be sure we won’t be disturbed here?’

  Nott smiled. ‘There are no other residents in this block of rooms; it is for older priests who have come back to the chapter house to live out their last. But it seems Aroaril has other plans for me—I am not required to join Him just yet. You can spread out and use as many rooms as you want, but I would advise keeping the doors locked and opening only to either myself or Sister Milly. Tiera and the other servants will keep you well supplied. When do you think you will effect the rescue?’

  ‘Can I get something to eat first?’ Karia interrupted.

  ‘I can find you something,’ Milly offered.

  ‘Karia, I need to talk with Martil and his men,’ Nott said gently.

  ‘More talk! All right, I’ll wait,’ Karia sighed with great care, and accepted a cup of milk.

  Nott wave
d for the soldiers to sit down, and Kesbury and his men perched on every available surface.

  ‘So where is the wizard, Barrett? And what of Father Quiller? I thought this was to involve both of them…’ Nott asked delicately.

  Martil scratched his chin. ‘There has been a change in plan. We learned that Gello is preparing to march a massive army north. The Queen, as well as Barrett, are on another mission: to win over the regiment of rangers to our side, as well as bring back a Norstaline bard and capture the Lord of Bellic, the man really responsible for that infamy. They have to do this today, as it is the only time we know the Lord of Bellic will be at our mercy. As we do not need to worry about time, we can wait for Barrett to be finished with the rangers. That will be tomorrow at the earliest. So we strike then. Once we know Barrett is ready, we’ll all leave and make for the park. We should be out of the capital before anyone even realises anything is wrong. That is the plan but it all depends on taking the building without Prent or any of his accomplices getting away. That’s up to you.’

  Nott nodded. ‘Milly, the drawings if you please,’ he said.

  The young priestess stepped forwards and unrolled a series of scrolls. The Rallorans looked at her, but not the same way they had looked at Tiera.

  For the first time, she wished that were different, only so she could protect Tiera. The young woman might offer the world a hard-bitten, tough exterior, but her treatment at Prent’s hands had damaged her. Perhaps going back with them all to the north was the best thing for her. Milly made a mental note to speak to Father Nott about that, as she unrolled the first of the scrolls for the Rallorans to see.

  ‘This is the plan of the chapter house. We are up here on the first floor, above the kitchens. Down the stairs you came up, and past the storerooms, is more stairs to the cells where Archbishop Declan, Bishop Gamelon and the others are being held. Once penitents’ cells, they were used for more stores, but now these have been cleared away—or given away, not to the poor but to Gello’s soldiers.

  ‘One cell has been converted into a guardroom, but there are never more than four men on duty there, as well as two on the door to Prent’s office, two at the front door and another pair at the back. The off-duty squad sleeps on the ground floor, in here. But I can take care of them.’

  Martil smiled at the young priestess. Her black hair was cut short and she had serious grey eyes, as well as a generous mouth and a snub nose with a scattering of freckles. ‘And how will you do that?’

  ‘Easily, with Tiera’s help. We shall serve them a meal that will put them to sleep.’

  Several of the Rallorans chuckled. ‘So, we get the word the off-duty squad is out of the way, then we’ll free the prisoners. Once we know we have them, we’ll take the guards at the front and back of the building—and go and visit Prent. The treacherous bastard betrayed the Queen to Gello when he was just a priest; I’m sure the Queen would like to see him again.’

  ‘So how will we know when we are to make this rescue?’ Milly asked.

  ‘When Barrett returns to the north, Father Quiller will contact you with instructions. Not sure how, but I gather you are familiar with his methods.’ Martil shrugged.

  ‘Aye. Thanks to Aroaril, His priests can talk to each other across long distances,’ Nott said. ‘But I would have thought it safer to wait until you had finished with one mission before starting another…’

  ‘It was felt that Barrett would have been too tired after his efforts with the rangers to send us both ways,’ Martil said carefully. That had been one of just many points he had argued about. ‘Besides, there was the fear that winning over a regiment of rangers and capturing a key ally of Gello’s and a bard in one stroke would cause Gello to fly into a rage and lock the capital down.’

  ‘So, we just need to wait until we hear from them tomorrow? Nothing to do but rest, eat…’

  ‘And play with me,’ Karia finished, a milk moustache on her face.

  The small band of Norstalines was able to walk right up to the barracks without being challenged or even seen. Everyone had been sent out to the archery ranges, where the bard was warming up—they could hear the sounds of a lyre across the quiet buildings.

  ‘We should be able to come out right behind the main party,’ Tarik reported, returning from scouting the area. ‘But I don’t know how you are going to appear behind the bard without being seen, your majesty.’

  ‘Leave that to me,’ Barrett said importantly. ‘As long as we don’t talk, and move quietly, we shall not be seen. I shall use my powers to disguise us. A keen observer might spot a shadow, or think he can sense our presence, but we will seem as if a wind is passing them.’

  ‘Someone sounds like they’re passing wind now,’ Wime murmured to Rocus, who fought to keep a straight face.

  ‘One thing: I can’t pick out the Lord of Bellic. There’s a dozen men dressed all in black—he could be any of them,’ Tarik said with a shrug. ‘There’s certainly nobody dressed in a golden surcoat, or court finery.’

  Merren bit her lip. Identifying the Berellian Lord, and capturing him immediately, had been an important part of the plan. With a knife at their Lord’s throat, the other Berellians would be far more amenable.

  ‘If only Captain Martil was here, he could tell us which one it was. He met the bastard, apparently,’ Rocus offered.

  ‘Yes, but Martil is not here. We are,’ Merren said sharply, a little too sharply, she knew. ‘We shall just have to be quick. You all know what to do. I don’t want unnecessary bloodshed—after all, many of those officers are men we want to serve with us. Call on them to surrender. We shall outnumber them, after all, and if they are isolated, away from their men, they will soon realise that and give up. But, if they fight, then of course you can fight back.’

  Wime, Forde and Tarik nodded agreement.

  ‘We shall not let you down, your majesty,’ Forde said fervently.

  Summoned from Gerrin by Barrett’s magic, he had leaped at the chance to prove his worth to the Queen, and to her rebellion. He and his men were proud to be wearing the blue surcoat with the silver dragon crest.

  ‘Then Aroaril be with us,’ Merren said heavily.

  Each bard brought his own interpretation to the saga, and used movement, the cadence of their voice and their lyre to add dramatic effect. Kay liked this kept to a minimum, personally. He felt watching a grown man prance around plucking a lyre was disrespectful to the saga. Romon obviously agreed with him, as he used his voice to great effect while standing still. Kay had been enjoying the performance but was now distracted by something in his peripheral vision. However, whenever he turned his head to see it properly, it disappeared. As a ranger, he knew the value of peripheral vision, as it caught movement even in low light. But here the sun was shining and there should be nothing moving behind the bard, surely?

  Then a burst of golden light behind the bard made everyone blink, and gasp. Six figures were standing behind Romon facing the ranks of rangers.

  Three were in armour, wearing a strange blue surcoat with what looked like a dragon crest on the front. The fourth was obviously a wizard, judging by his deep purple trousers and tunic, as well as the staff he carried. The fifth seemed to be a noble, who looked strangely familiar to Kay. But the last…Kay gasped. The last was Queen Merren! She was wearing a blue robe, with a sleeveless jerkin of mail over the top. The mail was impossibly bright, while the crown on her head shone incredibly golden.

  At first, many of the rangers thought this was all just part of the show, and a few had even started applauding. But quite a number had served in the Royal Guard, and they recognised the Queen instantly. Whispers went up and down the ranks.

  ‘Soldiers of Norstalos! I give you your rightful Queen!’ the wizard roared, his voice louder than even a bard could manage. Not that he had any competition. Romon was just standing there, mouth open.

  Kay glanced left and right. Nobody seemed to know what to do. The sudden appearance of Queen Merren had been so shocking—and unexpe
cted—that everyone was hoping someone else would be able to explain it. The rangers were glancing at their officers for orders, the officers were looking at Beq, while Beq, for some reason, was looking at the Lord of Bellic. Kay wondered if he should stand and take control of the situation. But what should he do? Why had she come here—and arrived in such a manner?

  A noise made him turn and he saw armed men in blue surcoats, at least thirty, clatter out from the office building and form up around where he and the other officers sat.

  ‘Nobody move! We’re not here to hurt you, just to tell you the truth about the Berellians and the lies they have been feeding you!’ Queen Merren’s voice, magically amplified, boomed across the archery range. Even more impressive, she was seemingly lit from behind by the golden light.

  A tough-looking man in blue, with a scarred face, told them, more quietly: ‘That goes for you as well. Listen to what the Queen has to say and not one of you will be hurt, not even the Berellians. Where is the Lord of Bellic?’

  Kay saw the Berellian stand from his seat.

  The leader of the Queen’s men signalled to two of his companions. ‘Bring him here and guard him well. We are all Norstalines, there will be no need for bloodshed. Listen to the Queen and learn how these Berellians and Duke Gello have tricked you.’

  The men hurried over to where the Lord of Bellic stood, relaxed. The Queen was speaking but Kay was focused on what was happening here, his mind awhirl.

  Then the Lord of Bellic signalled to his companions and exploded into action.

  Merren surveyed the assembled rangers with a growing feeling of hope.

  ‘The usurper, my cousin Duke Gello, has tricked and lied to you. There are no Rallorans attacking and killing people in the north! I have here Count Sendric, as well as leaders from the towns of Sendric and Gerrin, who can tell you that it was not the Rallorans who were killing people but the soldiers of Duke Gello! Gello wants to ally himself with Berellia, our traditional enemy, and start a war that will conquer the world! The Real Saga of Bellic is a lie, and we will prove it! As for the Lord of Bellic…’