by Duncan Lay
With a howl of anger, the Berellian mage stepped forwards, shaking his staff.
The Derthals switched their attention from the square to the two wizards facing off on either side of the square.
Cezar stopped his advance on Martil as his skin first darkened again, then lightened, then began to darken, then stopped.
The Berellian wizard chanted loudly and brandished his staff, waving it in complicated patterns, while his hand seemed to trace out arcane symbols in the air. Barrett, meanwhile, just stood there, his hand pointed at Cezar, his other clenched in a fist at his side.
For what seemed like an eternity they stood there, then Cezar’s skin lightened completely. The Berellian mage stopped waving his staff and simply keeled over, falling face-first to the ground, where he lay, moving weakly.
The Derthal crowd went wild, hooting and cheering.
Inside the ring, Martil began to move.
‘I came as soon as I could,’ a puffing Barrett said, wiping sweat from his face.
‘I knew you would,’ Merren said, although her eyes were on Martil.
Martil decided it must be night, because he could see stars; then he moved his arm and the pain of his chest wound brought him back into focus. He looked around for his spear and saw it—lying outside the branch markers that it was death to cross. He glanced over to where Merren had fallen to her knees, tears in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed at her. ‘Take care of Karia.’
She nodded jerkily, then turned away, burying her face in her hands.
‘Your wizard was better than mine, but that does not matter. I am going to see your country destroyed,’ Cezar gloated.
Martil looked back at the Berellian, to see him standing a few paces away, his magical protection gone but a wide grin on his face. He had no anger left; he did not have the energy for it. It was all going to end here. Part of him hoped it would be quick, hoped it would mean peace at last.
‘My name shall be glorified above all others—the man who destroyed the great Captain Martil,’ Cezar taunted.
But Martil was not listening to him. All he could hear was Merren saying she trusted him to save them all. He could not let them down. And over that he could hear Karia begging him to come back. He especially could not let her down.
Every part of him was burning, bleeding or throbbing. But, from somewhere, he found strength; he had never given up before. He could not give up now. He could not let Karia down.
‘I’m coming, Karia,’ he said out loud.
‘What did you say?’ the Berellian paused.
Martil was on his feet and on top of Cezar before the Berellian could do anything about it. Desperately, Cezar swung his spear around, and Martil let it sear across his upper back, not caring about another wound. He was inside the Berellian’s reach, and slammed his fist into Cezar’s throat. The Berellian gasped—and staggered back, but there was no escape, Martil slammed a head butt into Cezar’s face, feeling the nose break and hearing Cezar’s squeal of pain. He rammed his knee at the man’s groin then, when Cezar instinctively tried to protect himself, switched his focus to the spear, ripping it out of Cezar’s hands.
‘No!’ the Berellian begged, but Martil’s thrust began at the legs, travelled through the hips and up his back, picked up everything he had left, sent it along his arm and down the spear, which slammed into Cezar’s chest, slicing deep between two ribs and exploding out of the man’s back in a spray of blood.
Martil felt the spear tremble as the dying man’s heart still tried to beat against the wooden shaft. He made sure he stared into Cezar’s shocked eyes for a long moment before he ripped the spear out, sending blood fountaining through the air.
The Berellian collapsed into a pool of gore and Martil turned away, covered in blood, arms wide to acknowledge the Derthal crowd, which was going wild: Derthals were jumping up and down, stamping and cheering, booming out their war cries.
Overhead, Argurium was circling; she had arrived in time to see she was not needed.
The Derthal High Chief raised his arms to his people. ‘We fight for Norstalos!’ he howled.
The Derthals’ answering cheer rang from the skies.
Martil stayed where he was, because he was afraid he was going to fall if he took another step.
He was dimly aware of people running towards him, among them Father Alban, his hands reaching out; then Merren was there, her arms around him, holding him up.
‘You did it!’ she told him, her face wet. ‘You stupid, bloody, pig-headed, foolish, wonderful man!’
‘I love you too,’ Martil told her, then his eyes rolled back and he knew no more.
Acknowledgements:
Thanks to everyone who has read and supported both this book and The Dragon Sword Histories series, from friends and family to the fabulous people at HarperCollins and the wonderful booksellers.
A special thanks to agents Siobhan Hannan and Sophie Hamley, to copy editor Kylie Mason and especially to Stephanie Smith.
About the Author
An interview with legendary US fantasy author Raymond E. Feist inspired Duncan Lay to begin writing fantasy, using the time spent on the train commuting between his Central Coast home, where he lives with his wife and two children, and his work at The Sunday Telegraph.
This is his second novel.
Talk to Duncan Lay at: duncanlay.blogspot.com
Praise
Praise for The Wounded Guardian
The Dragon Sword Histories: Book One
‘This is realist fantasy, led by a believable cast of characters’
Daily Telegraph
‘Martil is an enthralling character…The Wounded Guardian rolls along beautifully’
Adelaide Advertiser
‘A tale of treachery, with a gentle hearted barbarian, a Queen with a passion for revenge, dark lords worshipping evil gods, politics, power and a young girl who could change everything. What more could you want from a fantasy book!’
Infinitas
BOOKS BY DUNCAN LAY
THE DRAGON SWORD HISTORIES
The Wounded Guardian (1)
The Risen Queen (2)
The Radiant Child
THE DRAGON SWORD HISTORIES: BOOK THREE
will be available mid-2010
Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2010
This edition published in 2010
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Duncan Lay 2010
The right of Duncan Lay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Lay, Duncan.
The risen queen / Duncan Lay.
1st ed.
ISBN 978 0 7322 8769 6 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978 0 7304 4532 6 (epub)
Lay, Duncan. Dragon sword histories ; bk. 2.
A823.4
ive.
