by Duncan Lay
He led her to a small, hedged arbour that had a wide, cushion-filled bench, then used a dagger to trim a small hole in the hedge, allowing them to see the main building.
‘What is this?’ Milly kneeled on a cushion to peer at the troopers standing casually beside the parked coach.
Kesbury coughed. ‘On a warm night, some of the ladies, er, entertain out here…’
‘Of course.’ Milly almost laughed as she saw his embarrassment. It was strange, but she felt comfortable around him.
‘What brought you here, Kesbury?’
The big man shrugged. ‘Bellic, I guess. It all leads back to there. What I saw at the murdered village, what I saw, what I did in the town—I could not stay in my own country. I had to come somewhere where people did not spit at you in the street. We did our duty, we followed our orders, and half the country hated us for it. Now the Berellians and Gello are trying to do the same to us here.’
‘But there are terrible stories from Bellic,’ Milly said gently.
‘I would like to make up for it. Of course I would. But I could spend the rest of my life helping others and never balance the scales.’
‘But you still live by the sword…’
Kesbury shrugged. ‘It is the only skill I have. What craftsman wants an apprentice older than he is? And I do not fight so much for a country as Captain Martil. Him and the Queen. I fight for them and the mates around me.’
‘You are a good man,’ Milly told him softly.
Kesbury grinned. ‘You haven’t seen me with a few ales inside me, Sister.’
‘There’s still time.’ Milly smiled back.
The sound of a bell clanging by the gate made Kesbury sit up.
‘What is it?’
‘That’s the alarm,’ Kesbury said grimly.
Sure enough, the two gate guards raced down the drive and into the main house, while the troopers now leaped to attention, drawing their swords and facing the door.
Kesbury pulled off his robe. ‘We need to get closer,’ he whispered, and led her down a series of paths, until they were crouched in the bushes just a few paces from where the troopers stood waiting. Milly’s mind was racing. What could she ask Aroaril to do to help save Martil? She had covered this in theory extensively during her training but was horribly aware she had never asked for those sorts of powers. Her palms were sweaty, her mouth dry and she had an intense urge to relieve herself.
She felt a touch on her shoulder and nearly jumped. Kesbury leaned in close and placed his mouth against her ear. His warm breath tickled her and, for a moment, she forgot about her fear.
‘When the captain comes out, you take care of as many of the ones on the far side as you can, I’ll take the pair nearest to us and we’ll leave the rest to the captain. Understand?’
She nodded. Talk of taking care of ten armoured men seemed madness, yet Kesbury exuded confidence; she felt herself relaxing a little, even thinking about how his lips had felt against her ear, for Aroaril’s sake! Thinking about such things at a time like this seemed perverse, but she could not help it. Besides, it was better than worrying about how she was going to ‘take care’ of as many troopers as she could.
Then the door opened and she saw Martil walk out, saw the officer challenge him.
‘Come on then, you bastards!’ he roared, swords flashing into his hands.
As if in a dream she watched the troopers advance carefully, shields high and swords out. Surely this could not be real and she would not have to stop them…
Then she felt Kesbury’s hand raise her up and jumped when he gave a war cry, drew his sword and dagger and charged forwards.
Somehow she followed him and saw the first troopers turn to meet this new attack. Her mind cleared as she saw what she had to do.
‘Hold them, Aroaril!’ she cried, gesturing towards the troopers furthest away from her.
Instantly she felt the warmth and surge of power that came from divine help. The four troopers on the far side of the yard froze in place, the expressions on their faces almost comical.
Then Kesbury struck the side of the line closest to them. The troopers had their backs turned and although his war cry had alerted them, they did not turn before he was on top of them. His sword took one in the back of the neck and, almost before that trooper had fallen, he had rammed his dagger into the side of the second.
The next two in line moved to deal with this threat, and Milly reacted to that, as well.
‘Make them sleep, Aroaril!’ she prayed—and the pair toppled over in front of an astonished Kesbury.
‘Surrender now, or die,’ Martil told the last two troopers and the officer.
With their comrades all down, and a pair of Rallorans advancing on them, the troopers backed nervously away.
‘Attack, you fools! The King will have us killed otherwise!’ the officer cried desperately, running forwards and aiming a blow at Martil.
He never even got close. The Dragon Sword lopped off half the officer’s blade and cut his head from his shoulders with one wicked blow.
That was enough for the last two troopers, who threw down their swords.
‘We give up! Just do one thing for us—hit us before you go!’ one pleaded.
Kesbury and Martil exchanged looks.
‘The King will kill us if you don’t,’ the second added.
Martil sheathed the Dragon Sword and gestured to Kesbury. The sergeant reversed his bloodied dagger and, with a pair of carefully judged blows, struck the men with the pommel.
‘Good work, Sergeant. Sister, I thank you for your help.’ Martil smiled. Only now he was safe did he bother to think about the danger he had been in.
‘I appreciate your thanks, but this is hardly the Church of the Sun, is it? Perhaps next time you decide to lie to me about your carnal urges, you will listen to my advice!’ Milly snapped, the adrenalin rush of the close encounter and her use of Aroaril’s power flowing through her.
‘I wouldn’t expect a priestess to understand carnal urges,’ Martil growled back, only too aware this little trip had been a flop in more ways than one, while the guilt and self-loathing he was feeling about it was hovering close to anger.
‘Perhaps we could continue this discussion back at the chapter house?’ Kesbury suggested delicately.
‘Aye. Well, thank you anyway. I will not forget it.’ Martil was determined not to be ungrateful. Besides, if he was quick with the apologies, he might even be able to persuade her not to tell Father Nott about this.
‘How much have you got left, Barrett?’ Merren asked urgently.
The wizard gave her a tired grin around a full mouth. ‘Plenty, my Queen,’ he mumbled.
The deep shadows under his eyes, the sweat stains on his tunic and the way his hands shook as he washed down food with water told a different tale, but she had to hope his strength would be equal to his ambition to be the hero. Out of the more than thirty men that had accompanied her, barely half were left. They were stumbling towards the safety of the trees but that was almost a false hope—about two hundred paces away she could see rangers darting into the cover already. These were men who trained among this wood regularly; they would hunt her small band down if they could. But the bigger concern was the cavalry, which was charging to the attack just fifty paces away. There was no way they were all going to get away in time, especially with Sendric and another wounded man being dragged along.
Then Barrett raised his free hand to the sky. Instantly a score of birds took flight from the trees, soaring high then swooping down to attack the cavalry horses. These beasts had been schooled to charge home into a packed body of men but they reared away from sharp claws and beaks raking at their eyes. In a heartbeat the charge was a shambles: horses falling, men shouting, horses screaming, men toppling.
‘Quickly now!’ Merren took Barrett’s arm to help him, as the wizard was struggling badly now.
The trees gave the illusion of safety, and the exhausted band paused there for a few moments, sucking i
n deep breaths.
‘Not far now! But we must keep moving!’ Merren said encouragingly. To the best of her memory, the oak tree was barely fifty paces away, almost straight ahead.
‘’Ware right!’ Tarik cried, nocking and loosing in one fluid movement.
One ranger stood from his hiding place and Tarik’s arrow took him in the chest, sending him flying backwards. But then a second revealed himself, and an arrow soared towards Merren. Before he could duck back into cover, another of Tarik’s arrows took him in the throat and he disappeared into the bushes.
Rocus leaped forwards, the arrow meant for Merren shattering on his shield, but his desperate dive sent him stumbling forwards, where he smashed his head into a tree. He struggled to get up, his eyes glazed.
‘Help him!’ Merren snapped. ‘Come on!’
Dragging their wounded, the little band staggered through the trees, Tarik leading the way.
‘I see the oak!’ he called.
Almost as soon as he spoke, arrows started falling around them—there was obviously a line of rangers waiting to their right. One man was hit in the upper arm, but the rest of the arrows wasted themselves on trees or on shields.
‘Into cover!’ Merren ordered, although there was precious little of that to be found.
‘We have to keep going! They’ll be moving men around us!’ Tarik cried.
Merren glanced over at Barrett, but the wizard looked exhausted—and he still had to transport them away from here through the oak tree.
‘We have to try. Two men with Barrett, Rocus and Sendric. Tarik, can you keep their heads down?’
‘I’ll try, my Queen.’ Tarik grinned at her and she breathed a sigh of relief that he was still here. He stood and loosed three arrows in quick succession.
‘Move!’ Merren called and they struggled to their feet, hauling along their dazed or exhausted companions. She thanked Aroaril she had ordered them to leave their mail shirts behind. Even without them the men were tired; with them, they would have been caught by now.
Arrows flew in and men tried to duck behind shields. One man swore as an arrowhead scraped a bloody trail along his side, then Tarik choked as one sank deep into his chest. He struggled to draw his bow but another two arrows struck him and he fell backwards, writhed once, and then was still.
Without waiting for orders, the rest of the band dived to the ground.
‘Tarik? Tarik?’ Merren screamed, feeling the beginning of panic touch her. Wime and Forde dead, now Tarik too—Rocus and Sendric unable to help…
She crushed the panic ruthlessly. She would escape from here. She would not lose.
One of Forde’s men, one of only two left alive, was lying next to her, tears trickling down his cheeks.
‘We’re all going to die,’ he moaned softly. ‘We’re all going to die!’
Before she even knew what she had done, Merren slapped him across the face.
‘We are not going to die!’ she snarled. ‘I will not allow it!’
Shocked, the man just nodded at her.
‘What is your name?’
‘Jaret, your majesty,’ the man mumbled.
‘Well, Jaret, we shall get away, and I shall make sure that when we return to Sendric, you and your family will dine with me. Agreed?’
‘Y-yes, your majesty!’
‘And for Aroaril’s sake, call me Merren!’
Leaving Jaret gaping at her, Merren crawled over to where Barrett lay gasping for breath. Arrows flew in every few moments, but none of the rangers were keen to show themselves long enough to aim properly. She knew that would not last. She had to do something to get them out of there. What she was decided on would cause problems later—but if she did not do it, there may not be a later.
‘Barrett, how are you feeling?’ She stroked his cheek tenderly.
‘Give me a moment and I’ll be fine.’ Barrett smiled up at her devotedly.
She leaned in and kissed him gently on the forehead. ‘I need you. You know I would not ask you normally, for I love you and would not want to see you hurt. But we have to get to that oak tree safely. And we have to do it now.’
Barrett felt the tiredness drop away from his spirit, although his body was still telling him it had had enough. Her words were like fire within him, and his forehead still burned from the touch of her soft lips. She’d said she loved him and cared for him! He used his staff to haul himself to his feet.
‘Watch out!’ Romon called. He could scarce believe he was still there—on at least three occasions he had wanted to hide, to stay behind, but had kept going instead. He put it down to reading too many sagas. He had to see if there was a happy ending to this one.
Barrett waved away the concern. He had to know where the rangers hid.
Sure enough, eight arrows soared towards him. Concentrating fiercely, he stopped their flight, then sent them back down the exact same path they had flown. With a meaty thump, all eight buried themselves in the men who had released them.
‘We’re clear now!’ Barrett gasped, clinging on to his staff to stop himself from falling. All the strength was gone from his legs and he felt dizzy. He barely noticed as arms helped him onwards.
‘Quickly now!’ Merren urged them on. She felt guilty for what she had done to Barrett but could not afford to think about it now. Once they were back in the north, she could explain to him.
The desperate little band raced to the oak tree, making sure Barrett was at the centre. One arrow hitting the wizard now would trap them all.
‘We’re here! Barrett, get us away!’ Merren slapped Jaret on the back and grinned at the remaining men.
Barrett reached out to touch the tree. He struggled to control his mind. His legs were shaking uncontrollably and there seemed to be two trees in front of him.
‘Come on, Barrett! I believe in you!’ Merren touched his shoulder, her lips brushing his cheek.
The words, and especially the touch, seemed to clear his mind. Barrett squared his shoulders and reached out to the tree. One last effort, he told himself. One more and I can rest. He reached into the tree, then jumped to the next, held that one in place and jumped to another, then another, then one more. But he could feel them slipping, struggling to get free.
‘I cannot take us all the way—I am losing it!’ he moaned.
‘Just get us as far away as you can, then we can wait until you are rested,’ Merren said urgently.
Barrett swayed a little. Desperately he grabbed at the trees, adding another six, seven—no, that was all he had. He thrust his staff into the tree.
‘Quick!’ he urged. His heart was thumping painfully and the breath was rasping in his throat.
Swiftly, supporting their wounded while keeping a hand on the staff, the men rushed through the tree, until there was just Merren and Barrett.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly, kissing his cheek before darting through.
Once again, her touch gave Barrett a surge of energy, and he clawed his way along his staff until he was through the tree and out. Then he smiled at Merren and collapsed.
10
Kay had his rangers sweep through the woods three times before he reported back to Beq. They found the body of one of the Queen’s men, as well as those of ten rangers, but nothing else. It was a mystery. The whole thing was a mystery. Romon had disappeared with them, which confused Kay even further. The bard had not been a prisoner, so why go with the Queen? Unless she was telling the truth when she said Gello and the Berellians were lying…That seemed almost impossible, until you thought that the man who had been introduced as the Lord of Bellic turned out to be the Berellian Champion, and the leader of a band of killers. None of it was making sense.
Kay went down to one of the storerooms where the bodies were being laid out, ready for burial. Six of his brother officers had died in the fighting, with another five injured. All had been appointed to the rangers from other regiments, brought in because they were friends of Beq, but nevertheless, they were men he had known and he wan
ted to say farewell. As he entered the storeroom, he was shocked to find a pair of Berellians cutting the ears off the bodies of the Queen’s men.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Kay thundered. Desecrating the bodies of men who had fought bravely was revolting to him.
The Berellians did not even look up. ‘Trophies. We have permission,’ one said laconically.
Furious, Kay stormed off to look for Beq. This was an outrage and he would put a stop to it.
He paused outside the open door to Beq’s office, where he could hear Beq talking to the Berellian Champion.
‘I hope you will convey to your ambassador that we did everything that was required of us,’ Beq was saying. ‘That the Queen and the remnants of her band escaped was not our fault.’
‘Their wizard saved them,’ the Berellian agreed. ‘And, of course, that the cursed Captain Martil was not with the Bitch Queen was not your fault.’
Kay was intrigued by the conversation—why would a Norstaline war captain be at all concerned with a report to the Berellian ambassador—but he was also aware that every moment he delayed was potentially another body desecrated by those Berellians, so he rapped on the door and pushed it open.
Beq and the Berellian turned to face him. ‘What is it, Kay?’ Beq snapped.
‘Sir, some of the Berellians are cutting the ears off the bodies of the dead! When questioned, they claimed they had permission to do so!’ Kay exploded.
The Berellian stared at him coldly. ‘And they do have permission. Besides, what is the problem? The taking of trophies is a traditional right of the victor.’
Kay ignored him. ‘Sir, with your permission, I wish to arrest these Berellians and see that the dead are buried with all due ceremony.’
‘Permission denied,’ Beq mumbled, refusing to meet Kay’s eye. ‘You are to let the Berellians continue.’
