The Wounded Guardian (40 page)

Martil gazed into her eyes and tried to think over the hammering of his heart. All of a sudden this had gone beyond a joke. Was she teasing him, or was she inviting him? And if he made a move, would it start something that would end in disaster?

‘Can I have a drink of water, please?’ Karia’s voice cut through the atmosphere between them.

Merren laughed softly and turned to go, her hand brushing his arm as she walked away. Martil watched her go, unable to keep his eyes off the liquid way her hips moved in the tight trousers. It had been cut short but already their little conversation had had an effect on him. He knew he needed to be a better man. Although first he needed to go and get Karia a drink of water. And then he needed to go and pay a visit to one of the former servants from Sendric’s country house. These young women had provided important help around the caves, but it was the other services they offered that Martil needed. Otherwise there was no way he was going to sleep that night.

Captain Havrick loved the trappings of his new office. He had installed himself in the Count’s old
quarters so he could sleep on silk sheets, eat fine food, drink vintage wine and summon whichever serving girl attracted his fancy to his bedchamber each night.

But he was beginning to loathe the responsibilities that came with it. All this time, he had thought captain’s rank just meant more money and a better uniform. It certainly brought respect, and that was the one thing he craved above all else. But with it came extra duties, ones he could not delegate to others.

The town council, nine men who were either rich merchants or tradesmen, always seemed to be complaining that they had to foot the bill for feeding and billeting his men and horses. And they were always whining that his men were taking what they wanted and threatening violence to anyone who tried to make them pay, or that they were getting drunk and then attacking the local women. Havrick was sure his second-in-command—a First Lieutenant called Jennar—was sending the town council in deliberately. As he saw it, once his men were off duty, they were entitled to enjoy themselves. Besides, as he told the council, this was war. Everyone had to make sacrifices.

Still, once he had armed and equipped a company of militia to watch the town while he was gone, he could forget about these lumpen councillors. He knew that once he had slaughtered the rebels and captured the Queen, anything he did here was forgiven. So he was waiting with decreasing patience for a convoy of supplies and weapons to arrive; then he could properly equip the militiamen, and other men, who had shown the right attitude. Then he could leave this fleapit of a town for his real duty.

He had left a standing order that he was to be notified immediately the convoy arrived.

So when a messenger burst into his chambers, he was not surprised. He was annoyed at the man’s timing, as the distraction allowed the serving girl to gather up his evening meal—as well as her dress—and leave before he could finish with her.

‘What is it?’ he snapped, thinking he would have to order the girl back with more food later.

‘The convoy, sir. It’s been attacked.’

Havrick felt a lurch of panic. ‘What happened?’

The messenger, a young trooper from Havrick’s light cavalry regiment, gulped. ‘It was the rebels, sir. They killed most of the escort, took the weapons and armour and burned all the food and supplies.’

Havrick sagged back in his chair. His plan had relied on that convoy! And now it was gone! He was horribly aware how Duke Gello reacted to failure. And on top of complaints from the town council…There was only one thing to do.

‘Get me every officer and sergeant!’ he barked.

The messenger almost leapt to attention. ‘Yes, sir!’ He sprinted for the door.

It was partly a measure of the messenger’s fear, partly a measure of how fast the news about the convoy had spread, but the officers from the various regiments, along with their senior sergeants, were gathered in the chamber soon afterwards.

Havrick glared at them. He knew many resented him. He had been a mere Second Lieutenant, able to command only a platoon or a squadron of men, while several of them were First Lieutenants, able to command a full company—or more. He had been jumped to War Captain, which gave him command of an entire regiment or, in this case, a small army. He
did not care what they thought, although he knew Jennar had questioned some of his orders. Well, he would show them.

‘We leave at first light to fulfil our duty. We shall not return until we have crushed these rebels, killed the Dragon Sword wielder and captured the Queen. From what the survivors of the attack told us, they have barely fifty men. Once we find the trail they left from the wagons, we shall follow it until we reach their lair, and then massacre them. Questions?’

As he had expected, Jennar was the first to speak up. ‘Sir, what about the town? We don’t want to leave it undefended. And we have no way of arming the militia now.’

‘How many men have we got for the independent company?’

Jennar coughed. ‘We had more than eighty militia and young men come along, but after all the incidents in the town, that’s down to about a dozen.’

Havrick ground his teeth. ‘Then we shall leave one of your companies behind to hold the town.’

‘But, sir, wouldn’t it be better to leave one of the cavalry companies? It will leave the force light in infantry if one-third of my men remain behind.’

Havrick laughed. ‘Who needs infantry? We shall ride in and smash them. Any other questions?’

‘Food, sir. And supplies. We don’t have enough to stay out for very long.’

Havrick had had just about enough of this questioning. ‘Then we take what we need. Rip this place apart and find me every scrap of oats and hay, every barrel of dried meat and every sack of salt. Now go!’

Havrick watched them file out and knew they would be talking about him. They always talked
about him. No matter. He just needed enough supplies for a few days, just long enough to find and crush Martil. Then they could all starve, for all he cared. Meanwhile, he had his own preparations to make. He summoned a serving girl and ordered her to bring him wine. He would have at least one more fine night before it was off to sleep in fields and eat salt beef.

But for the rest of the town, it was not a good night. Merchants protested in vain as their wagons and food were commandeered. And not just food. The soldiers took anything that interested them, and used the opportunity to loot some stores that sold nothing useful for a campaign but plenty of things that were valuable. The light cavalry were particularly brutal. The deaths of their comrades had put them in an ugly mood. They smashed down doors, broke into warehouses, took beer, wine and women and left anyone who questioned them lying in a pool of blood.

The sound of the violence and the screaming drifted through the night air. Havrick left the sobbing servant girl to collect her clothes as he wandered out onto the balcony. He wanted to enjoy this last night of luxury but it was spoiled by the knowledge it was time to earn his promotion. Part of him longed for the chance to show how clever he was, to prove everyone wrong. But he could also feel the weight of the responsibility. All his life people had been telling him he was not good enough. His parents, his teachers and his officers—all had said the same thing. He feared he would prove them right.

The ambush site was easy to find. The charred wagons still smouldered, and the bodies of dead
horses were still piled by the side of the road, stinking in the sun. Dried blood and broken arrows showed where the escort’s futile charge had been slaughtered.

He only had two scouts at his disposal—barely a handful of rangers were considered trustworthy enough to be allowed out of their barracks—but looking at the wide trail left by the wagons, he was confident even he could follow it. Around him the men were silent and surly; a night of too much drink, plenty of work and little sleep, followed by a dawn march, did not give them much to be happy about. Havrick had a full company of light cavalry patrolling around them in all directions—after what had happened here, he was determined not to be caught again.

This was his big chance. The third son of a decorated army officer, who had been celebrated at court for fighting goblins, he had been ridiculed by his father for not being able to understand military strategy, or being able to use a sword more than competently. But while his brothers ultimately decided not to join the army—one was a horse breeder, the other a ship’s captain—he had joined up to prove them wrong. He had bought his commission but had been unable to advance particularly far—until now. This was his opportunity to show his brothers and father that they had been wrong. And he was not going to let his men’s intransigence slow his march to glory.

His infantry had consisted of one company of pikemen and two of swordsmen. The pikemen were used to protect archers, break up cavalry attacks and to break an enemy line. However, the weight of their massive weapons made marching difficult, so he had left that company behind to watch the town of Sendric. But even the swordsmen were struggling to
keep up with his cavalry, marching in their hauberks, coats of tightly-meshed chain mail.

To try and speed things up, he ordered them to leave shields and armour behind with the supply wagons they had scrounged and stolen from the town, while leaving another company of light cavalry to guard their supplies. This meant the march was quicker although still not fast enough for his liking. The trail was wide and obvious and the rebels close to destruction.

Then it all started to go wrong.

The trail disappeared into woods, which had to be impossible. Wagons could not crash their way through bushes and squeeze past trees without leaving some evidence of their passing. But, apparently, they had. Havrick sent his scouts and a company of swordsmen in to try and find the trail, while he bit his nails in frustration. They returned—but the news they returned with made no sense. Havrick, Jennar and most of his officers followed them in, marching five miles through rough wood country until they came across the wagons, emptied of almost all their supplies and sitting quietly in a clearing, with no apparent evidence of how they had got there and, worse, no trail to suggest where the rebels had gone.

‘It’s a mystery to me, sir,’ the lead scout admitted.

‘How did they do this?’ Havrick raged, his hopes of an easy victory thwarted.

‘Must be magic, sir. Because there’s no earthly way a man could get in or out of here without leaving a trace,’ the scout declared.

‘Barrett. The Queen’s Magician. He must have done this,’ Jennar said.

Havrick stared at Jennar with loathing. Did the man think he was in charge or something? Well, he
would soon put him in his place. ‘Perhaps we should fight magic with magic. Were there any magicians in Sendric that we can use?’

Jennar sighed. ‘A town like Sendric can only support a couple of wizards. There’s not enough people who can afford to pay for magic. There’s an old man who’s long past it and a young bloke who’s only been here for a year or so…’

‘Well, get them. Any magic is better than none. See to it.’

‘But, sir, those two would be mad to go up against someone like Barrett. It’s almost a death sentence for them.’

Havrick stared at him coldly. ‘And why is that a concern of mine?’ He decided it was time to show Jennar who was really the leader. ‘I want a cavalry patrol to go back to town and bring me any wizards you can find. There will be no excuses. Quickly!’

‘And what if they can’t help us anyway, sir?’ Jennar asked.

Havrick smiled wolfishly. ‘The rebels have made a mistake, thinking that we would give up here. But we shall use this as our starting point. They must have gone either north or east of here, deeper into the woods. So we shall split the two companies of infantry into groups of twenty and you shall all start searching, each taking a slightly different route, until you find their camp.’

Jennar stared at him, appalled. ‘Sir, you’re talking about a massive area! These woods go on up to the mountains—two hundred men won’t be able to search all that! After a day or so, we’ll be so far away from each other that they could wipe out each group and the ones to either side would not even hear it.’

‘Horns. Each group has a trumpeter. As soon as you are attacked, sound the horn, and the other groups will converge on you. They will only attack when you are getting near to their camp, so we shall use you as bait.’

He watched in satisfaction as Jennar blanched at his words.

‘Sir, I must protest! I could lose half my men in there!’

‘Any sacrifice is worth it, to find the Dragon Sword and the Queen,’ Havrick told him with relish. ‘Now, organise your men. I want you searching before the day is out. Or you can refuse, and I’ll have you sent back in chains for the Duke to rule on your treasonous behaviour.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jennar saluted impeccably. ‘What about supplies? If we are to stay in the field, we shall need supplies each day.’

Havrick thought about this one. ‘Use this area as your base camp. I’ll clear a trail to here and then you can use a company of light cavalry to help carry supplies further in.’

‘And if we get too far away to carry supplies in each day?’

‘Then we move your camp. Now hurry, Lieutenant, time is wasting!’

Havrick stalked back out of the woods, along with his cavalry officers, so he could start the men felling trees and clearing bushes. He expected to lose a few groups of infantry but once he knew where the camp was, he could send his cavalry in after them. But he had no intention of letting Jennar receive any credit after the officer’s reluctance to sacrifice himself and his men for victory. Besides, once the wizards got here, they might be able to follow a
magical trail all the way back to Barrett. He congratulated himself on his own brilliance.

It was the birds who brought word of the advance first. Once Barrett had heard of the search, he sent dozens of birds out to look at what was happening, helped by Karia. It meant they were swiftly able to get a clear picture of what they were facing. Merren called a war council and they pored over a map of the area.