by Duncan Lay
Trained by years of speaking in the pulpit, Chanlon’s voice whipped into the villagers, drowning out Nerrin’s rational argument and turning all but a handful against the Rallorans.
‘Come on, Sergeant. We can do no good here,’ Nerrin said sadly.
‘Ride away! We don’t want to see your like again!’ Chanlon screamed at them.
‘So what do we tell the Queen, sir?’ Dunner wondered.
‘That getting everyone to flee to the north is not as easy as it sounds,’ Nerrin said lightly, although he felt sick inside. He was almost happy to see the likes of Chanlon and Loft impaled on Berellian spears but, for most of the villagers, their only crime was to believe what they had been told by bards and priests. Worse, he was going to have to risk his men to save villagers who hated him.
‘I hope she has some more ideas for persuading the people.’
The farewell from Berellia was full of the pomp and circumstance that country did so well. Gello had found himself mightily impressed by the way the Berellians had managed to devote their whole country to the pursuit, and celebration, of war.
Cheering crowds lined the streets as immaculately uniformed men marched past in perfect step, banners held high. The crowds then packed into a massive open square where King Markuz, his voice helped magically by the Royal Magician, whipped them into a frenzy. The fatherland was threatened by the vile Witch Queen over the border. Berellia’s ancestral lands had been stolen and its people needed more living room. It was time to secure the people’s safety by invading and taking back this land. After this war, Berellia would take its rightful place as leader of the world.
If he had not been talking about Norstaline land, Gello might actually have believed him.
‘One people, one state, one leader!’ Markuz’s voice bounced from the stone walls that lined the square. The crowd chanted the words back at him. Atop the walls was an entire regiment, every man carrying either a torch or a banner. As one, they cheered and stamped their feet on the battlements. It was amazing; Gello could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise with the power and the passion Markuz was inspiring in the huge crowd.
This was how to prepare a population for war! They would do anything for Markuz now, he saw. His own people were too passive. He needed to inflame them like this, if Norstalos were to truly rule the world. It was a valuable lesson, he decided.
He was distracted by a huge cheer, marking the end of the rally. Then, the crowd was given a sacred duty.
‘We may lose our gallant men in this war, so it is every Berellian woman’s duty to start a new generation to fight for the fatherland!’ Markuz roared at them. ‘And every soldier’s duty to father his replacement!’
Gello liked that touch. Every woman’s duty to get herself pregnant that night, for the sake of Berellia. And the perfect way to get men fired up for a battle. He tucked that thought away for another day.
‘Sire, do we let our men join the fun?’ Feld asked.
Gello grinned. ‘Of course! But let them know that tomorrow we march. We have further to go, and must be in position by the next full moon. But, for now, we should honour the country that shelters us by sampling their customs.’
Feld laughed. ‘Aye, sire!’
23
Merren looked down at the table for a long moment after hearing Nerrin’s report.
‘Your majesty, we can expect some of the people to begin moving—and we can also expect others to start fleeing once they see the neighbouring villages going up in flames. We can provide some protection to the fleeing people,’ Martil concluded. He had earlier explained how his Rallorans would slow down the Berellian advance, while the rangers would delay Gello, and the archers and Rocus’s Norstaline companies tackled the Tenoch warriors.
‘We have to get the people to the north! There is no alternative!’ Merren looked around the table, but none could meet her gaze. ‘Well, Conal, I want every militiaman you have knocking on doors, telling people to go. Use the soldiers as well. Get every bard out spreading the word, every priest telling their parish that servants of the Dark One are coming. We will keep telling them until they believe us!’
‘Of course, but there are not enough of them, your majesty,’ Father Quiller said. ‘And not everyone will be convinced. After all, the people have discovered that both the priests and the bards have been lying to them.’
Merren sighed, her heart faltering at the thought of what was going to happen to her people.
‘Perhaps I should make contact with Gello directly. If I agreed to go, to let him return…’
‘My Queen, you cannot even consider that,’ Nott said firmly. ‘Not only would it betray the sacrifices already made, it would do no good. Gello is not in charge any more, the Fearpriests are. There can be no peace, no arrangement made with them. We fight or we die.’
Merren inclined her head. ‘Then we must have more time. Martil, I know what you said about Rallora, but an attack on Berellia’s south would at least keep most of the Berellians at home…’
Martil sighed. ‘For King Tolbert to declare war on Berellia again…It might be possible but it would be a long and complicated negotiation. Then he would have to concentrate the army on the northern border—by the time he was able to do that, I fear the Berellians would have already invaded.’
‘Nevertheless, we must try. The Ralloran ambassador will be here later. We shall speak to him and, if necessary, Barrett and I will travel to Rallora to speak to King Tolbert,’ Merren ordered.
‘The Avish?’
‘They have refused to help—all the ambassador would say was how much he hated Captain Martil.’ Sendric sighed.
‘Well, what about Tetril? I know they are a small country, with a small army, but if they could at least stop Gello’s men…’
‘I have been trying to contact the Tetran ambassador but he seems to have disappeared,’ Sendric reported. ‘I suspect he may have left deliberately, to avoid speaking to us. I will keep trying but I fear we shall have no joy there.’
‘We must get the people moving!’ Merren insisted. ‘We need more ideas! Anything to get them moving! Meanwhile, we must have a safe haven for the people in the north. The Derthals. We must not only prevent them from joining our enemies but convince them to help us. Father Quiller, what can we offer them?’
Quiller looked across at Sendric before answering. ‘I think there is only one thing that they would want. The return of their ancestral forest.’
‘What!’ Sendric raged.
‘Hear me out.’ Quiller held up his hand. ‘The forest where the Queen was able to hide from Gello’s men so successfully is hardly used by our people. Meanwhile, its cave systems would provide shelter, its streams both water and fish, and its abundant game would be far richer for the Derthals than the mountain deer and goats they struggle to hunt and subsist upon now. Life in those mountains is harsh. Derthals are considered old at thirty, ancient at forty. Cold, disease, hunting accidents and lack of food claim both young and old alike. But if they were given the forest back, I do believe they would be willing to help us.’
‘Have you lost your wits, man? Aroaril above, they cannot be trusted! Bring ten thousand of those screaming savages down below the mountains and no farmer or villager would be safe!’ Sendric barked. ‘My forebears risked life and fortune so that Norstalos’s northern border could be safe, the gold and silver mines secure, the rich farmland accessible—’
‘Wrong, Sendric,’ Merren interrupted. ‘It was their land and we were the invaders. They only tried to defend what was theirs. There is no reason Derthal and Norstaline cannot live side by side, in peace. And you forget one important thing—without them, we will not have a Norstalos. Quiller, I want deeds of ownership drawn up immediately. Once I have seen the Ralloran and, hopefully, Tetran ambassadors, I will decide where to go first. But I will make the trip north. The Derthals must meet me, not some emissary.’
‘My Queen, that would be even more foolish than giving land to them! Once you go
north, you would not return!’ Sendric protested. ‘You may think them harmless, and I grant you there has not been a serious goblin incident for fifty years, but I was raised on tales of their screaming attacks! There was a reason Sendric was built with a secret escape route! They are a deadly enemy!’
‘All the better to have them on our side then,’ Merren said coldly.
King Markuz was in full armour, which was not unusual, but he was also on horseback, which was.
‘I will meet you at Norstalos City! I am personally leading my men into battle, so there can be no mistakes,’ Markuz announced, offering Gello his hand.
‘We shall meet you there,’ Gello acknowledged, as his men prepared to leave.
The Berellians had not only replaced his men’s weapons—although some of those were the strange club-axes the warriors of Tenoch used—they had given Gello enough supplies to get his men through Tetril and eastern Norstalos. Plenty of the cured sausage the Berellians seemed to love, along with their raw cabbage dish, cheese and black bread. Some of the Norstalines, more used to hardened oatcakes, had muttered about the ‘foreign food’ but most had been happy to pack the food for what they saw as a triumphal march back into Norstalos.
‘And the Tetrans will give us no trouble?’ Gello asked cautiously.
‘Correct, my friend! We have signed an extensive treaty with them, one which they have been agitating about for years now. Of course we are going to break it, but the fools don’t know that—and, by the time they realise it, it will be too late. Same with the Rallorans. Tolbert thinks this is purely a matter between you and the Witch Queen. And his suspicions have been allayed by the large payment we promised. His country is still poor as a peasant after the Ralloran Wars; he won’t jeopardise that much gold by doing something foolish, like helping the Witch Queen. And he doesn’t like making a decision. If she asks for help, he’ll dither, and we’ll seize Norstalos—then we can go south to finish what we started in Rallora sixteen years ago!’
Gello smiled. That sounded perfect. Let the Berellians go and refight the Ralloran Wars, while he rebuilt Norstalos.
‘And noble Itlan and Yertlaan? Are they ready?’
‘Ready and eager. They will leave a day after you, with your Earl Worick to guide them to safe harbours. A shame your other noble could not help also,’ Markuz said blandly, but Gello saw there was steel underneath the voice.
He kept his own voice light, uninterested. ‘He was always a fool for food. And your rich food proved too much for him. We are better off without him: he would have eaten enough of your sausage to feed an entire squad. He might have even sunk one of the Tenoch ships!’
Markuz roared with laughter and offered his hand again.
‘To victory, and the return of your throne!’
‘Victory and my throne!’ Gello echoed with a smile.
Merren stormed out of the audience chamber, leaving Martil to hurriedly follow.
‘How on earth did the Rallorans win their wars, when they are not able to see past the ends of their own noses?’ she raged, as she stormed back to the throne room. They had returned to the capital to see the ambassadors. The Tetran ambassador had turned up, but her relief at that had been short-lived. He had made it quite clear the Tetrans would not be using their small army to try and stop Gello’s forces, having recently signed a treaty of ‘mutual defence’ with Berellia. He had then announced he was leaving, his term of duty having finished—although he had been there barely a year.
Merren was annoyed, but it had not been unexpected. After all, Tetril could be snapped up by anyone, if they so wished. The only thing stopping its bigger neighbours from crushing it was knowing the prize was hardly worth the effort.
But the Rallorans! Despite Martil’s warning, she had expected more from them than this!
Martil tried to catch up with her. ‘My Queen, I did warn you that Rallora was tired of war. They cannot see the danger. The border with Berellia is well fortified, after what happened at Bellic…’ he coughed and then went on. ‘They think they are safe, the Berellians broken. And Tolbert will not take risks. If he had agreed to finish the job of invading Berellia in the first place, we would not be in this mess. He thought our losses would be too high. He would always rather take the easy course, than the difficult but necessary decision.’
Merren shook her head. ‘Of all the stupid, selfish, short-sighted…!’
Martil merely nodded agreement.
‘If I go to Rallora, can I change his mind?’
Martil’s face showed his struggle to come up with an answer. ‘It is possible. But I have never seen him change his mind,’ he warned. ‘And the ambassador was only passing on the message he had been given by Rallora. Peace and goodwill between nations, a new start, Berellia has made a gesture of trust…I would guess they are offering back-payment of the tribute they try to reduce each year. King Tolbert needs money—lots of it. The pension bill of men who fought to free the country is huge, and he was forced to waive taxes on large amounts of rich farmland so people would resettle close to the border.’
Merren slowed to a stop. ‘So I must decide on my priority. Trying to win over Rallora, or win over the Derthals. I must judge who might help me more than the other.’
‘Merren, you would have to better Berellia’s offer before Tolbert would consider helping you. Even then, there are no guarantees the Berellians could be diverted from us.’
‘So we must see the Derthals. We cannot have them on Berellia’s side. If nothing else, we must make sure they do not invade the north.’ She sighed. ‘Good sense says we should devote every effort to win over the Rallorans. After all, the Rallorans hate the Berellians and have a veteran army. With ten thousand Rallorans attacking southern Berellia, Markuz would have to take his army back to stop them. Forcing the Berellians to fight us both, at opposite ends of the continent, would give us a strong chance of victory. But only if Markuz cares about his people. The Rallorans could attack and he could ignore them to finish us off. I fear that is exactly what he would do. So good sense is actually foolish. Why waste our time and effort on the Rallorans, when they cannot give us what we need? And I confess I feel somehow drawn to the Derthals. Could they really secure those passes?’
Martil smiled. She had absorbed everything he had tried to teach her about strategy—and more. ‘Thousands of their warriors at the passes…Of course it would help! Those passes are exactly the sort of territory they should fight well in.’
‘As long as we can get everyone safely there first,’ Merren said. ‘I will see Conal, Sendric and the others again before we leave. They have to find a way to get the people moving.’
‘One step at a time. Get the Derthals on our side first,’ he suggested.
Merren smiled at him, almost said something warm, then remembered that she could not give him even a hint of her feelings.
‘Captain, as my Champion, I will expect you to come with me when we travel north, to win over the Derthals.’
‘Merren, I know you need to impress them, but surely it would be better to send Sendric. You are too valuable—’
‘No, I am not,’ she told him. ‘I am no more valuable than any of you. Besides, if you, Barrett, Karia and Quiller cannot protect me, who can?’
Martil opened his mouth to argue further but she silenced him with a look.
‘Get the others together. We shall leave at first light. We cannot delay any longer.’
‘Your majesty.’ Martil bowed.
‘I need to tell you about the Derthals,’ Quiller instructed carefully.
‘What are they like?’ Karia asked, bouncing up and down.
Against Martil’s better judgement, she was coming along. But he had to admit, she could be useful. Apparently none of the Derthals could use magic—and were impressed by those who were able to demonstrate the power. And, as they could not bring along many guards, anything that could offer protection would be welcome. It was going to be a close-run thing. To get the Derthals on their side, a
nd persuade them to march enough of their warriors south, they had to swiftly win over their High Chief. And that was going to be no easy thing. Quiller had made contact with a priest called Alban, who had been living and working with the Derthals for more than a year. Through him, he had arranged a meeting with the Derthal High Chief, who had agreed to meet with the Queen of the Norstalines. But meeting with him was one thing. Overcoming centuries of hatred, persecution and mistrust was another. Merren had thought it best Sendric not come along; not only was he unable to stop calling the Derthals ‘goblins’ but he was also the symbol of Norstaline betrayal and invasion.
Meanwhile, Sendric and Conal would try to get the people moving. The evacuation of the country was going slowly. Too slowly. The east was moving; people heading inland, towards the capital. But in the west and south, where the invasion would be led by Tenoch warriors and Berellians, there was much less progress.
The west had always been Gello’s land, and many of the people there were highly suspicious of the Queen. Most of them, especially the richer ones, were looking forward to Gello returning, thinking they would be treated far better. Hutter and Kettering were hard at work there, trying to get people to move away from the coast, and away from the roads leading to the capital. But even in the most co-operative villages, more than half of the inhabitants just refused to move.
The south was a little friendlier, but equally reluctant. A trickle of refugees was heading north on the roads but too many people were just staying put. That would change, but the cost would be high. Merren was trying not to think about it.
‘The people have become complacent and arrogant. They are not ready for this trial of blood and fire. But, if we survive, we will become a stronger country,’ Nott had predicted.
