The Wounded Guardian (17 page)

He thought about things like that, because Karia was still full of questions. A few days ago he would have paid good gold for a little peace and quiet but now he was not only used to it, he was enjoying having her there, rather than being alone with his thoughts.

Cezar knew Martil would not have travelled through Berellia. No, he would have gone through Aviland and up through eastern Norstalos. That meant Cezar could cut the corner and close the gap dramatically. Added to which, he guessed Martil was taking it easy, not pushing his horse, while he had no such qualms himself. He had four fast horses, and he was willing to ride all of them to death if it meant catching Martil. Norstalos was a big place but he was confident he could find his prey. Martil would be using the main roads, so all he had to do was ask if anyone remembered a Ralloran with two swords. A little gold—and the plausible story that the Ralloran was an old friend who owed him money—should provide him with information. And once he was close enough, he had no doubt as to the outcome. This Martil might claim to be the best bladesman on the continent but Cezar had no intention of fighting fairly. A dart in the back, a knife in the night, poison in his food or drink—either way, dead was dead.

The last village at the border had a high wooden wall around it, with men patrolling along the top and several on the gate. Like the farms around here, it seemed the local residents were rather wary of Danir. Martil did have a moment’s unease when he saw the militia on the gate, wondering if Havrick would have sent word on ahead. But the militia waved them through easily enough. At least the village inn was something to look forward to, much better than the ones they had ‘enjoyed’ on the way there. It had a separate dining room away from the bar, and the bedrooms were both large and clean. Martil dropped his bags on a table and looked out the window, towards Tetril. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, similar to the one he used to get before battle.
Perhaps it’s because you’re planning to see a bloodthirsty bandit tomorrow and tell him you killed his brother and nephews
, he thought. Then he thought more and realised, whatever happened to him, he did not want to see Karia end up with another Edil, who beat and abused her. She deserved more than that.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

‘Whether we should just turn around and not see your uncle tomorrow,’ he shrugged.

‘We’re seeing him tomorrow?’ Karia asked in horror. She had been enjoying this ride so much, and the thought of going back to what life had been like with her da made her feel sick. ‘I don’t want to see Uncle Danir! He’s going to be even meaner than Da! He’ll hate me, and he’ll kill you!’

‘Oh, he will, will he?’ Martil said grimly. Obviously Edil had told Karia what to expect when they arrived at Thest. She kept that quiet, he thought bitterly.

She seemed to follow what he was thinking. ‘At first I wanted you to be punished, so I thought I’d let you bring me here and face Danir and his gang. Then when you wouldn’t let me stay with Father Nott, I hated you even more and wanted to see you hurt. But now…now I would rather stay with you than go to Uncle Danir. Don’t make me go there! Da was afraid of Danir. He only wanted to use him as revenge. He wouldn’t have cared about me. And if Da didn’t like Uncle Danir, I know I won’t.’

Martil sat there, stunned. He simply had no idea what to do now. What had Father Nott seen? He racked his brain to remember the priest’s exact words. They had been ‘go to Thest’. Not, ‘head towards Thest and then go somewhere else when you learn the truth’. Why was it that old priests liked being so bloody mysterious? Couldn’t the man just tell him what was waiting there?

‘You wouldn’t believe me,’ Nott had said.

But surely it could not be bad, because Nott would not want to put Karia in danger. So what was it?

‘Karia, do you trust Father Nott?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Why?’

‘Because he told me we had to go to Thest. He said it was very important.’

Karia was less than impressed with this.

‘You’re trying to trick me. When we get there, you’ll just ride off and leave me.’ She crossed her arms and stared at him balefully. ‘I’m not happy.’

Martil struggled to stop himself smiling at the expression on her face. ‘It is no trick. Perhaps Father Nott saw a proper family you can stay with. Surely you would like to play with other children rather than me.’

‘I like playing with you. And reading stories. And eating nice food. I bet they won’t do that. It’ll be like living in the forest again.’

Martil reflected on her preference for life with him to life in the forest. It was something of a compliment, he supposed.

‘Father Nott wanted us to go there. He must know something. So we’ll see what’s there, but if you’re not happy, we will leave,’
if we still can
, he added silently. ‘All right?’

She was not convinced, but eventually agreed. After all, so far he had kept his promises. ‘All right. But if I’m not happy, I’ll let you know.’

Martil held out his hand and she shook it solemnly.

So now they would find out what the priest had seen.

The innkeeper looked like an old soldier. He had a bristling grey moustache, a shaved head, a straight back and burly forearms. He introduced himself as Darry, shook hands in the warrior’s grip, and told Karia she was beautiful.

The crowd in the dining room was also different from the usual flock of smelly farmers. There were quite a few merchants, and because this was bandit country, quite a few guards for the merchants. Martil
had drawn back at first, because he could see almost all of them were Rallorans. It should not have been a surprise. When the King disbanded the regiments responsible for Bellic, it left thousands of men out of work who had known nothing but war in their adult lives. Some went back to their villages, but many had seen too much, as Martil had, to pick up their old lives. But they had to eat, so a lot of them signed up as caravan guards in Norstalos, where the pay was good and the chances of action remote.

As Martil walked past, he saw eyes widen in recognition, and two men, obviously well into their drinking, even saluted him.

Innkeeper Darry seated them at a small table and pointed out the chalkboard menu on the wall.

‘Ralloran officer?’ he said quietly.

‘Aye,’ Martil agreed cautiously, not wanting to reveal too much.

‘Say no more,’ Darry winked.

They ordered the roast chicken and vegetables, and while they were waiting, Martil looked around the room to see nearly a dozen of the militia over the far side, near the bar, drinking and laughing. He could not help but ask Darry, when the innkeeper returned with their food, why they were in here and not out patrolling.

Darry sniffed and lowered his voice. ‘They know, with all the caravan guards here, that Danir would never strike at the village. So they sit here warm and safe and let the countryside suffer.’

‘Why do you put up with it?’ Surely a squadron of cavalry could lie in wait for Danir and end the bandit’s menace once and for all.

‘Never would have done years ago,’ Darry shrugged. ‘But in the past few years, the army has
been interested in anything but protecting the farmers. They’ve got more important business now, they tell us. Too busy. Pah! In my day, we would have been down here with a few archers and some light cavalry, and had us a dead pack of bandits within a week. Last couple of years, Danir’s just got bolder and bolder, because we sit back and take it.’ Darry seemed about to say more, but was called away to serve some of the militia. He fixed a smile on his face and hurried over.

For once, Karia did not ask what was going on, partly because she was busy eating, mainly because there was a table of loud Avishmen behind her, and she was a little intimidated by their noise. All through the meal, the Avish got louder and louder, swearing and laughing. Martil debated about asking Darry to move them, or request that the Avish be a little quieter, but could see that would only cause trouble for the inn. So he decided to go back to their room. They could always come back for dessert later.

‘Let’s go,’ Martil put down his knife and fork.

She obligingly pushed her chair back so she could stand—and rammed it into the chair of the Avish guard behind her. Normally the man would have barely noticed it, but he had been trying to drain a flagon of ale at that moment, and the bump was enough to send the beer cascading over his face, rather than down his gullet.

Spluttering and swearing, the Avishman jumped to his feet and turned around to see who had knocked his chair. Like most of his countrymen, he was tall and blond, with an impressively long moustache, now looking bedraggled and soaked in ale. But his fair face was flushed with anger and his blue eyes were reddened.

‘Why you little…!’ he growled and drew back his hand.

‘Touch her and you’ll be drinking without your hand,’ Martil snapped, jumping up himself.

The Avishman looked at Martil. ‘I hope you’ve got enough money to buy me new clothes and drinks for the rest of the night. Then I might forgive a little girl and her grandmother,’ he sneered.

Martil could see Darry bustling over, ready to defuse the situation, and knew he could allow the innkeeper to buy the Avish some drinks, throw in a flagon of ale himself, and probably walk away. He considered it for a moment, then smiled at the Avishman.

‘I’d buy you a drink, but I didn’t think dogs were allowed in here,’ he said coolly.

It took a moment for the Avishman to understand the insult, then he snarled and nodded to his companions, who also pushed back their chairs. Martil stood relaxed, but his hands were close to his sword hilts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Darry urging the militia to do something, but they were studying their beer instead.

‘I hope you Avish are as good as you think you are,’ a strange voice said, in the moment before the room exploded into violence.

‘What?’ The Avishman did not want to break eye contact with Martil, and neither did Martil want to look away from him, so they did not turn to see who the speaker was.

‘You’re about to fight War Captain Martil.’

Martil could not help but feel gratified by the reaction his name had on the Avishman. Perhaps he had fought against this man’s unit at some point. The man’s face paled, and his mouth sagged open, while his two companions promptly sat down.

‘Th—the Butcher of Bellic?’ he croaked.

‘Only to my friends,’ Martil snarled.

The Avish weighed up their options. Not only was Martil reputed to be unstoppable with the sword but the room was filled with Ralloran warriors. It was an easy choice, in the end.

‘Your daughter surprised me. I reacted hastily. My apologies. Perhaps we could share a drink and say no hard feelings?’ he said gruffly.

Martil was in no mood to let him off easily but the man who had intervened stepped forward, and into his line of sight.

‘Captain Martil,’ he saluted, and Martil gazed at a man of medium height, with a thatch of reddish hair, a once-broken nose and green eyes. He was only slightly familiar. ‘Sergeant Nerrin. I joined your regiment just before the battle of Mount Shadar. You saved my life there when you led that last countercharge. I was only with you for six months before you recommended me for promotion when the King created a new division under Captain Macord.’

Martil saluted him in return. He did not remember the man but then he had commanded thousands of men during the war. Part of him was grateful for the intervention, part was frustrated he had been cheated of taking out his anger on three half-drunken Avish.

Nerrin turned to the Avish. ‘I think the captain and his daughter were heading off to bed, but I’ll drink with you.’

‘Let me buy a flagon for you both.’ Darry bustled over and the Avish sat down gratefully.

Karia was afraid; afraid of the big, drunken men, and afraid that something would happen to Martil. Then she saw how the men were afraid of Martil and
was just confused. The Martil she had seen about to attack those men was different from the one who played with her dolls and cut flowers for her. Then he smiled at her and held out his hand and she relaxed.

Martil had to return the salutes of every Ralloran in the room before he could leave.

‘Why did those men put their hands on their chests when you walked past? Why did they call you a butcher? Why were they scared of you? What happened?’ Karia was full of questions.

Martil tried to answer her questions but could see she did not understand.

‘How about I read you a story?’ he offered instead. ‘I don’t feel very tired.’

Sergeant Hutter always told people he liked the quiet life. So this was too much excitement for him. First, a Ralloran warrior had gone through the area and killed off his biggest problem, the bandit Edil. Then the village priest had left, replaced by a woman of all things! Hutter knew there were increasing numbers of priestesses of Aroaril; he just had not expected to see one in his village. And now, to top it off, there was this strange man asking questions.

‘So, you are looking for Captain Martil.’ Hutter considered the man for a few heartbeats. There was something about him that was eerie, worse even than that Martil. He had the feeling that Martil was eager for a fight, but this man, he was just eager to kill. The sooner he was away from here, the better. Hutter came to a quick decision. ‘He rode through a few days back. He was on his way to Wollin,’ he said shortly.

‘My thanks to you, Sergeant. Good day.’

Hutter watched him climb into the saddle of an expensive-looking horse and ride away. As far as he was concerned, the two of them deserved each other. As long as the meeting was a long way from Chell.

Darry had enjoyed watching the Avish humiliated last night. He liked having Rallorans for customers because they always spent plenty of gold—but the Avish just wanted to fight. And he had been amazed to hear some of the stories about Captain Martil. The Rallorans had regaled everyone in the inn with tales of killing the Berellian Champion Hizek, of how he had made men more afraid of him than of the Berellian Guards, of how he had held Mount Shadar for a whole day with just one regiment until the King arrived with the rest of the army. As an old soldier, Darry had always had sympathy for the Rallorans and their fight for freedom, although he had been horrified at the destruction of Bellic. It was hard to reconcile the reality of the man looking after a small child with the saga of the Butchers of Bellic. Darry had heard it performed three times in his inn and had actually banned bards from doing it again. He found it too depressing. He much preferred it when the bards did the old sagas, the ones with a bit of a tune to them and plenty of heroism, lucky escapes and beautiful maidens. Business was better after those. So in more ways than one, this Martil was intriguing, and while life out here on the border was busy, it offered little in the way of intrigue. When Martil and the girl came down for breakfast, he thought he would join them.

He was shocked to hear they wanted to travel to
Thest, although, when pressed, he agreed to provide directions as well as a fine breakfast of fruit and oatmeal.

‘It’s not on the trail. You ride for half a day, then watch for this huge stone, shaped just like a woman’s ti—I mean a woman’s…’

‘I know what to look for,’ Martil said shortly, glancing to where Karia was scraping up the last of her honeyed oatmeal. She was uncharacteristically quiet again this morning. Perhaps she had picked up his mood, perhaps she was scared also.