The Wounded Guardian (21 page)

In the deep silence that followed, Martil forced a weak laugh. ‘Very amusing. But as I am a Ralloran, I do not see how I can commit treason in Norstalos.’

‘Oh, I intend to find out,’ Havrick sneered. He was jubilant. He had searched the southern roads for this Ralloran for two days, before being ordered to rush here as part of a massive hunt for Barrett the wizard. Now revenge was at hand.

Martil’s anger, that had threatened to bubble over against Barrett, now surged to the surface again. His swords flashed into the air.

‘Come and take me, you bastard!’ he snarled.

‘This is your last chance,’ Havrick warned, but took a pace back so his men were with him.

Martil hoped the wizard was going to do something but the man just sat there, a small smile on his face, as if he found it amusing that his two tormentors had turned on each other.

Havrick glanced left and right. He knew, after that incident on the road, that he had to do something to regain his reputation. Now he saw his chance to redeem himself. Capture these two and all would be forgiven. This was obviously some plot. Unmasking it might bring a reward from the Duke!

‘This is for my sword!’ Havrick screamed and lunged at Martil.

Without thinking about it, Martil blocked the blow, then stepped in and hammered the hilt of his right-hand sword into Havrick’s face. The officer’s nose broke with a crack, he went one way and his sword went flying the other.

The other five soldiers tried to rush in but the tables and chairs obstructed their progress. Martil blocked one blow, then managed to strike a second soldier in the face with the pommel of his left-hand sword. This time it caught the man on the point of his jaw and he went down like a poleaxed steer, tripping another man behind him.

Martil jumped in and kicked the man who had tripped in the head; the soldier’s head snapped back and rammed into a table. The other three soldiers slowly circled around, trying to find a clear way to get at Martil. For his part, Martil prepared to kick a chair into the path of one, and then kill the other two.

Then the wizard stood, his staff in his hand. He murmured something, and then pointed at the closest two soldiers. A flash of light brighter than the sun leapt from his free hand, the one not holding the staff, and struck the two men in the face. Blinded, they dropped their swords and clutched at their eyes, screaming.

The last soldier edged back towards the bar, suddenly outnumbered. Conal, who was sitting at the bar, measured his approach, then brought his metal tankard of ale down on the man’s head. The soldier went down like a sack of turnips and the ale flew everywhere.

Conal looked at it mournfully. ‘That’s one ale I’ll never see again,’ he sighed.

Martil ignored him and instead turned to Barrett. ‘I thank you for your help,’ he said warmly. As always after a fight, the anger was gone.

‘And I thank you for yours,’ the wizard grunted, leaning on his staff for support.

Martil paused then, unsure of what to do now. Attacking the soldiers had given him a whole new range of problems. For a start, he would not be able to sleep here tonight. And what would the militia do? There were enough of them at this post to create plenty of trouble.

‘We should go. The blindness will not last much longer, and then you will have to fight again,’ Barrett warned. ‘I don’t want to do that.’

Martil agreed. He scooped up Karia and ran for the stairs.

‘Leave your bags! We don’t have time!’ Barrett snapped, but Martil ignored him. Karia was clinging to him, and he had to fumble for the key before he got in the room and grabbed the heavy saddlebags with his free hand. He raced out the back to the stables, where Conal was trying to saddle his donkey and Barrett was leading out a black horse with a cavalry saddle.

‘You should have left those. We can get supplies and bags from anywhere,’ Barrett told him.

‘Not ones like these,’ Martil told him, putting down both bags and child to saddle Tomon.

Saddling a horse was a job he had done countless times, but the knowledge a dozen militia might turn up, urged to violence by Havrick, was enough to make the job suddenly far more difficult and frustrating. The buckles would not work properly and Tomon kept shifting around. Martil had to bite his tongue to stop swearing.

‘Where are we going?’ Karia asked, picking up his mood and feeling afraid.

‘Somewhere safe. I’ll lead you there,’ Barrett said reassuringly.

Finally he was ready and they rode out of the inn’s yard, Barrett leading the way, Conal’s donkey going as fast as its little legs could carry it, Karia riding with Martil.

‘Slow down now,’ Conal urged as they came up to the village gate.

‘What?’ Barrett asked.

‘It’ll look more natural and they won’t try to stop us,’ Conal explained.

The gate guard was a pair of militia, and sure enough they barely looked up from their fire as the men and child rode out at a gentle pace. It was a smart move but going so slow was amazingly frustrating.

‘Time to speed up a little, I think,’ Barrett said quietly.

Just then the feared cry came: ‘After them!’

Martil looked back to see Havrick and a dozen militia at the gate. But none had horses and, luckily, none had a bow. They were milling around while Havrick was ordering them to fetch their horses and chase after the fugitives. He urged Tomon into a trot and they disappeared around a bend while the militia were still in disarray.

‘They can’t catch us,’ he said confidently, then looked over at Conal, who had to work hard to make Noxie keep up with them. ‘Although they might, if it’s a long chase.’

‘Not far to go,’ Barrett said.

In fact they rode barely a mile up the road before they came to a side track, obviously rarely used.

‘In here,’ Barrett urged.

As soon as Conal was safely off the road, and they were all a few yards up the track, Barrett turned back and gestured at the road. Instantly the hoofprints disappeared from the ground, grass grew over the bare dirt and the bushes expanded to block the track and make it appear as if there was nothing there.

He led them about a mile up the track, which twisted and turned and rose slightly, until they arrived at a large cabin. By then the wizard was slumped over his horse’s neck. He reached out and the cabin door, which had no handle, swung open.

‘Safe here. Wake me in morning,’ he mumbled, then slid off his horse into an ungainly heap.

Conal took care of the horses while Martil carried Karia, the wizard, and then the supplies into the hut. It was surprisingly clean and comfortable, with a pair of beds along one wall, a large table with chairs in the centre and various cupboards surrounding a fireplace and a small stove along the facing wall. It smelt fresh and clean, with a hint of lavender. Martil dropped the wizard onto one bed, put an excited Karia into the other and then got a fire going. He was just thinking about what to do next when Conal walked in.

‘I know we’re back from the road, and the track is hidden, but what if they smell the smoke?’ Conal warned.

Martil cursed and put the fire out. ‘Good thinking.’

‘Aye, well, I had to dodge pursuit once or twice in my earlier career,’ Conal admitted.

‘Your earlier career? What do you do now?’ Martil laughed.

‘Why, I’m a hero now. Rescuing wizards, fighting soldiers. All in a day’s work now.’

Martil ignored him and dug out a couple of oil lanterns, which would supply light without smoke.

‘What happens now?’ Conal wanted to know.

‘Well, we wait for him to wake up. If he is the Queen’s Magician, then he can certainly help us get to the Queen,’ Martil pointed out.

‘Or land us in a dungeon. One day of being respectable and I’m on the run again!’

‘Look at it from my point of view,’ Martil told him. ‘I was heading north to find some peace and buy myself a little place by the water. Now I have the entire army of a ruthless usurper after me, and all I have to help me is a little girl obsessed with making me play dolls, a magical Sword that will kill me if I’m not careful, a sleepy wizard and a one-armed ex-bandit.’

‘You are one lucky bastard,’ Conal told him.

They fell silent, then Karia sat up in bed.

‘Can you sing to me? A different song this time. I’m bored with the other one.’

Martil sat on the bed beside her and tried to think of something to sing. Nothing was coming to him, so he just made lines up.

‘Time to sleep, close those weary eyes,

Time for dreams, after lullabies.

We’ll see you when the night is done

We’ll see you when it’s light

Rest now, Karia, beautiful one, sweet dreams be yours tonight.

Sweet dreams be yours tonight, my dear,

We’ll see you when the morning’s here.

So close your eyes and go to sleep, good night, sleep tight.’

Martil was pleasantly surprised to find he had actually made up a bit of a rhyme, and even more surprised to find it had worked and Karia had fallen asleep.

He turned to see Conal looking at him with a strange expression on his face.

‘What’s the matter? Haven’t you heard out-of-tune singing before?’ Martil almost growled.

Conal took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I used to sing my kids to sleep,’ he finally admitted.

‘Where are they?’

Conal hesitated before replying. It was not a story he was proud of, but after so many years, he found he now wanted to tell it to someone. It was strange, it was almost a compulsion.

‘I was a militia sergeant. Small village. Then my girls and my wife came down with the fever. The nearest apothecary was a day’s ride away and they needed help immediately. So I called in the local priest. Bastard said he wouldn’t do anything unless I paid him in gold! He knew I didn’t have any. Militia sergeant doesn’t pay much, you know. Course I knew where to lay my hands on some gold. So I used my sword to get me some. Priest said it wasn’t enough, so I stole some more. The bastard still wouldn’t help but when I had my sword halfway up his cassock he explained quickly enough. Seems he wasn’t much of a priest, so Aroaril wasn’t granting his prayers. Instead of telling anyone, he thought he could just demand gold for healing, knowing nobody could come up with gold, so he’d never have to come up with the healing. So I took the gold back and planned to find a real priest.’ Conal paused for a few seconds, then wiped his face with his only hand. ‘Only when I got home, my wife and kids were dead. My two militiamen
found me blubbering over their bodies. I thought they had come to help me but the priest had claimed I’d robbed him. They had come to arrest me. I looked up from the bodies of my girls to see that smug bastard laughing at me. So I stood with my sword in my hand and in moments there were three bodies to add to those of my wife and daughters. In one instant I had gone from a respected militia sergeant to a murderer and thief. No going back from there. So I took to the road and spent the next twenty years getting drunk, hitting people and stealing what I needed to survive.’

‘So why didn’t you stop?’ Martil found himself asking.

‘Because I didn’t care if I lived or died.’

That resonated with Martil and he looked anew at the old bandit.

‘So why are you here now? You could have left us at Thest, or just sat at the bar when those soldiers tried to arrest me.’

Conal shrugged. ‘Wish I knew. I had a feeling I should go with you and the girl. Wasn’t like I had much to stay for.’

‘Is that it?’ Martil asked, disappointed.

‘And once I started, I thought maybe this was a chance to make up for some of what I’ve done in the past,’ Conal said softly.

Martil shuddered. ‘You can never make up for some things,’ he said, mostly to himself.

‘Aye, but that’s no reason not to try.’ Conal coughed guiltily. He felt as though he had taken a burden off his shoulders. But that was no reason to start hugging the man or go off dancing with the elves. ‘Is there anything to drink in here?’

A quick search of the cupboards revealed only a few basic supplies and no alcohol.

‘Bloody wizards,’ Conal snorted. ‘I’ll keep watch for half the night and wake you for your turn.’

Martil felt as if he had barely closed his eyes when Conal woke him. He gave Conal a blanket, then moved a chair over to the window, where he could watch the trail. He doubted if the militia could find them. What the wizard had done would have fooled even the best tracker. Still, he had no intention of being complacent. The lanterns were out, meaning his night vision was not obscured by light in the cabin, and he let his eyes roam slowly across the clearing. He knew his peripheral vision would pick up any movement, so he let his eyes scan, while he was free to think.

Finding the wizard was a stroke of luck. He needed answers, needed them desperately. But he was afraid his old friend Borin would be proved right: no good ever came of dealing with wizards.

Cezar was thinking about Martil when he rode into a large patrol of cavalry and militia, led by a bloodied and bruised Lieutenant Havrick. He had been almost dozing in the saddle, lulled by the long chase and the infuriating peacefulness of the country.

‘You there! Traveller! Have you seen anyone ride past? Two men on horses, a little girl and a man on a donkey?’ Havrick bellowed.

Cezar, whose hand had gone automatically to the hilt of a throwing knife, relaxed. At least this patrol was not after him.

‘I haven’t seen anyone all day,’ he forced himself to reply as naturally as possible.

‘How is that possible? Where can they have gone?’ Havrick raged, and Cezar’s hand eased down to his saddle, where part of the design was actually a throwing dart.

‘Sir, that was Barrett the magician with them. If this man hasn’t seen them, and we haven’t caught them, it seems likely he used magic to get them away,’ one of the troopers said respectfully.

‘You mean they could be miles away, Sergeant?’ Havrick growled.

‘I mean they could be on the other side of the country. Barrett is the Queen’s Magician—he could have taken them anywhere.’

Havrick slumped in his saddle. Cezar, who seemed to have been forgotten, listened carefully.

‘I must tell the Duke. Captain Martil and Barrett the magician together—they are probably planning to rescue the Queen or something!’ Havrick exclaimed.

Cezar watched them, his heart pounding. This was what Onzalez had feared. One of the Butchers of Bellic was to become a danger to them. And he was too late to stop him.

‘Sir, we’ll need to ride to the nearest village and sequester some horses. Ours won’t last a long journey, we pushed them too hard on the way here,’ the sergeant warned.

Havrick thumped the pommel of his saddle in frustration. ‘That’s going to take too long! We need fast horses now!’ His eyes fell on the string of horses that Cezar led. Even in the moonlight, they were obviously fine beasts. ‘Here we are!’

Cezar, who had been frantically thinking how to retrieve the situation, was shocked to find Havrick right in front of him.

‘Traveller! I need your spare horses! I am an officer of the Duke and you will be recompensed for them but my need is far greater than yours!’

Cezar’s first instinct was to cut the man’s throat, take out the sergeant with a throwing knife and then gallop out of there. But while satisfying, he knew that would be a mistake.

So he forced a smile, unclenched his fist from around the small throwing knife disguised as a belt buckle and untied the reins to his three spare horses.

‘Who do I say has my horses, when I ask for payment? Each one is worth nearly three gold pieces.’

Havrick clambered off his sweating horse and had two of his men transfer his saddle onto one of Cezar’s spare horses. ‘Follow at your best speed. I’ll ride ahead to warn the Duke,’ he told them then looked up at Cezar. ‘Just tell them, Lieutenant Havrick of the Lights.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember that,’ Cezar smiled, rage bubbling inside. This arrogant fool would never know how close he had been to death at that moment. He watched Havrick gallop off, followed more slowly by his men, while the militia turned back to the village.

Cezar decided to turn around and ride back towards Wollin. He had to return to Berellia and report his failure. He knew that would mean facing Markuz and Onzalez. But he would survive. And it would not be the end of his hunt for Martil. Cezar had never failed to kill a target before and he had no intention of spoiling that record.

Perhaps predictably, Karia was the first one to wake, not long after the sun had cast its shadows over the clearing. Whoever had built this cabin had an eye for the ground, Martil decided. The winding trail was slightly raised; just enough to ensure the cabin was hidden from the main road down below. The large trees around the cabin gave privacy, but at the same time, none were so close that someone might be able to get near unseen.

As long as the wind was blowing in the right direction, to waft smoke away from the road and disperse it, there was no way they could be detected. Still, he was not willing to risk a fire, which outraged a hungry Karia.

‘But I want toast for breakfast!’ she declared.

‘There’s no fire. How about some dried fruit instead?’

‘No, I want toast!’

Martil refrained from saying he wanted a hot woman and some peace and quiet, but wasn’t going to get either of them.

‘When the wizard wakes up, I’m sure we’ll have some then,’ he compromised.

‘I’ll wake him,’ Karia offered, starting in that direction, only for Martil to catch her hand.

He felt the old, familiar surge of anger but took a deep breath instead. ‘I would like some toast as well, but we can’t have it yet. Do you understand? If we start a fire, the militia may find us.’

This was language she obviously understood. ‘All right. But we can have it when the wizard wakes up?’

‘Soon after,’ Martil promised.

So they ate some dried fruit, drank some water and played first with the top, followed by the dolls, although when Conal awoke, Martil hurriedly pretended to be looking out the window.

Conal joined them, rubbing at bleary eyes. ‘Morning,’ he yawned. ‘Don’t think we need to worry about the militia this morning. They’ll assume we escaped out of their jurisdiction, although they’ll post our descriptions in the surrounding area.’

Martil looked at him carefully. Could the old bandit be returning to what he once was—and if so, what would that mean for Martil’s use of the Dragon Sword?

Conal could not help but notice Martil’s gaze and found himself feeling strangely embarrassed. He had never told his tale to anyone before and could not help but wonder why he had told it now. He was
painfully aware he had never worried about what others thought of him back in Thest. It was what had kept him alive when Danir was in one of his rages, and what had led to the derisory nickname Conal the Cowardly.

Meanwhile, Martil could see Conal’s turmoil.

‘Conal, about last night…’

‘Yes, Captain?’ Conal did not know why he used that form of address, but it had seemed natural and Martil took it as no more than his due.

‘I appreciate you telling me what happened to you. I can say that everyone deserves another chance. I am living proof of that. Whatever crimes you have committed, I have done worse. But the past is just that—behind us. All we can do is our best for that day. You don’t have to be a bandit any more. You can be the man you once were.’ Martil knew the words would help Conal—he just wished he could believe they applied to him. Instead they left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had made too many similar speeches to men before battles, telling them things they wanted to hear, rather than the things he knew were true, to take comfort from it.

Conal coughed a little, to cover his embarrassment.
Time to change the mood
, he thought.

‘I will, Captain. Whenever you need a spare hand, count on me.’

Karia thought that was hilarious and Martil just gave him a smile and a nod. Karia was too clever not to pick up on what they were saying if they said too much.

Conal must have had the same idea. ‘Any idea who built this place?’ he asked.

Martil took the invitation. ‘None. It must have cost a bit. And why put it out here? There’s no farming
land around, and it’s too far from the village’s protection when there’s a known bandit around. And look at it. Even the fireplace is barely blackened. It hasn’t been used much.’

Conal nodded. ‘Aye, well I suppose the wizard will have answers when he wakes up. We’ll just have to wait.’

And wait they did while Barrett snored on.

Karia was quickly bored, despite Martil offering to play dice or ball with her, so Conal suggested playing dolls with her. Martil was pleased, and a little surprised to see her agree. He reflected on the irony that she had taken days to warm to him, while a smelly, one-armed, ugly ex-bandit was accepted almost immediately. There was no predicting the female taste, he told himself, although he was not as pleased to see the old bandit was remarkably good at playing dolls and making Karia laugh.

So he offered her a trip outside to feed and brush the horses. It broke the monotony but Martil was almost at his wits’ end when they walked back inside and she asked, for the umpteenth time, when she could have toast.

‘When the wizard wakes up,’ Martil said through gritted teeth, thinking this would, in years to come, become an expression to denote an enormous amount of time that needed to pass. The cabin did not even have an hourglass, to allow them to mark the passage of time.

‘When will he wake up?’

‘Now,’ Barrett said softly, and sat up.

‘Yippee! Toast!’ Karia cheered, and did a little dance.

‘We told her she had to wait for you to wake up
before we started a fire. We didn’t want to give ourselves away with smoke,’ Martil explained.

Barrett nodded. ‘Quite right. But I am hungry also.’ He pointed at the fireplace, where the remains of the fire Martil had started last night still lay. Instantly they flared up, then went down to red-hot ashes, perfect for cooking but giving off almost no smoke.

The wizard looked far better than he had last night. His eyes were clear and his skin had lost some of its pallor. He swung his legs out of bed. ‘Let’s eat,’ he suggested.

As he tucked into a large bowl of sweetened oatmeal, and dried fruit, and Karia had her toast and cheese, she tried to question him through each mouthful.

‘Why do you eat so much?’ she asked.

‘Magic. It uses up my energy; energy I can only get back through eating and sleeping. Magic can never be destroyed, or disappear, so if we take it, we have to replace it. I used a great deal of magic yesterday while searching for…something, so I was drained when you met me.’

‘And how does…’

‘Perhaps we should wait before asking him these questions. After all, there are many other questions that need to be answered,’ Martil said hastily, before Karia took control.

She stared at him and crossed her arms, so he hastily shoved a piece of toast at her.

Barrett watched them in silence for a few seconds. This was an unusual trio and he was not sure how to proceed with them. His attempt to get back the Dragon Sword had not been going well. By the time he had recovered from his magical duel with Tellite,
he had feared Gello’s agents would already be past him. He had spent yesterday travelling around the area, using his magic, desperately searching for signs of the Dragon Sword. It had left him exhausted and dangerously vulnerable last night. The trio had saved him. But he doubted they would be able to help any further.

‘Indeed. Perhaps we should start at the beginning. You know my name and that I am the Queen’s Magician. I know you are Martil and the girl is Karia, but who are you really?’

Martil shrugged. ‘I am better known as War Captain Martil of the Ralloran army…’

Barrett swallowed his next spoonful too fast. That name was familiar. ‘A Butcher of Bellic?’

‘Not my official title. But I was there,’ Martil admitted sourly.

‘My apologies. I have been part of the Royal Council for three years, and we receive regular reports. Please continue.’ Barrett leaned back and looked at the man with renewed interest. What was a man such as he doing up here? And why was he with a small girl? At least he appeared to be no friend of Gello’s thugs…He listened carefully as Martil explained almost all that had happened until meeting up with Barrett at Darry’s inn.

‘It was lucky for both of us,’ Barrett acknowledged. He decided he would help these people get away from Gello. It was the least he could do, although it would delay his mission somewhat. ‘Your help was given, and should be rewarded. I can get you back over the border into Tetril. You should be safer there from Gello’s thugs.’

‘Is that why you are out here?’ Martil asked.

Barrett took another mouthful of oatmeal while
he pondered how much to say. Not only was there a risk to them but, after spending the past few years being unable to trust anyone else in the palace, old habits died hard. ‘No offence, but you are a Ralloran, your friend is a Tetran bandit and the girl is the daughter of a Norstaline one. I am not about to confide in you. Now, I will see you to safety and the debt between us will be paid. Although I would appreciate you answering just one question. Why was that officer so angry with you?’

‘We’d had a run-in near Wollin. He thought I had the Dragon Sword,’ Martil said dryly. He was looking forward to puncturing this pompous wizard’s arrogance when he revealed what was in his saddleroll.

‘They are searching everyone,’ Barrett agreed, ‘but why did you not just agree and then be on your way?’

‘The first time was because I don’t submit to anyone,’ Martil fired back. ‘And the second time, because I actually had it in my saddleroll.’

Barrett paused for a second, then roared with laughter. ‘Excellent jest! I can see those rumours about you Rallorans not having much of a sense of humour are wrong!’

Martil just looked at him, not saying anything, while a quick glance told Barrett that nobody else was laughing. His smile slowly died as he felt his heartbeat increase. ‘You can’t be serious?’

For an answer, Martil just went over to his saddleroll and produced the bundle, unwrapped it with a flourish and displayed the glittering scabbard.

Barrett surged to his feet. He would know that scabbard anywhere. He had feared he had failed in this mission but here it was now, being handed to him! He could see the Queen’s smile and see her
gratitude—it was the familiar subject of his secret daydreams. It was almost too good to be true!

‘Aroaril’s beard! It is the Sword!’ he gasped in astonishment.

‘We were going to take it back to the Queen,’ Karia declared.

Barrett sat down, his mind racing. He had to return to the capital as fast as possible. ‘This changes everything,’ Barrett said, half to himself. ‘This could save the country.’ He looked up. ‘You must give it to me!’

Martil made no move to do so, on general principles.

But before Barrett could make a stronger demand for the Sword, Conal piped up.