The Wounded Guardian (48 page)

‘He put us in this situation. He was the rightful King, and wielder of the Dragon Sword. He could have put a stop to Gello and Ivene’s plotting. But he would rather risk the country than offend his sister and nephew. He tried to appease them and they spat on the trust he placed in them. If he had been stronger, we would not be in this desperate state, it is as simple as that.’

Martil heard the bitterness she struggled to keep out of her voice.

‘Sounds as if he wasn’t all that good. I’m surprised the Dragon Sword let him get away with that,’ he offered.

Merren gasped.

‘What is it?’

She turned towards him, a stricken expression on her face.

‘What you just said—all this time I suspected that Ivene had a hand in my father’s death but I could not see why she would kill him then, when her plans were not far enough advanced. Now I know why he died so young.’

‘How?’

‘The Dragon Sword. He had the chance to save his country but would not take it. He stopped being a good man. The Dragon Sword must have stolen his life.’

She sat back, stunned by her own revelation. She truly did not know what to feel. The part of her that had raged against her father—for the strictures he had placed upon her, the lack of love he had shown her and the ridiculous deal he had made on her behalf—that part wanted to say he deserved it, that it was just punishment for what he had put her through. Another part wanted to weep, to mourn for a man she honestly hardly knew, yet who had shaped her life. She was amazed she had not come to this conclusion before. What Martil had said made everything fall into place.

Martil looked at her and knew she needed some sort of comfort. She might look like she was in control—and she might even claim she felt nothing for her father—but he could see coming to such a conclusion had deeply affected her. He wondered if he should reach out to her.

Then Barrett cleared his throat. ‘Your majesty, that was a remarkable realisation. I agree with you completely. But it is something we need to examine at a later date. Its ramifications are too big to look at tonight, particularly as we have such an important day tomorrow. Time we were all abed, don’t you think?’

‘Why, my lord wizard, I do believe you have the makings of a fine mother hen,’ Merren said, with just a trace of acid in her voice. ‘I shall now leave you. Good night, Captain.’

The air in the tunnel seemed a little staler this time, although Martil had to admit, the presence of so many people and particularly horses was adding to the fragrance. The men who brought up the rear of the column were having a hard time of it in particular, stepping over and around piles of manure. Thanks to Barrett—and Karia—their march to the small wood and cave that hid the tunnel into the keep had been exceedingly easy, especially as Havrick’s men were searching in the wrong direction, a score of miles away. Opening a gate between trees for so many was obviously not feasible, but Barrett had opened several, allowing groups through at a time, to give them a literal jump-start on their march. Their only concern, that someone could detect the use of magic and the march, was a small one. According to Barrett and Tarik, the press-ganged wizards were rarely even being sent out with the searching groups—Havrick had apparently come to the conclusion that the searchers accomplished more without them.

Now they were almost at their destination, and were certainly under the town, so Sendric and Conal were sent ahead to find Gratt. The servant would lead them up to the castle and be able to tell them what had been happening since they last saw him.

Martil ordered everyone to rest and eat, for it had been a day of hard work and walking to get them to this point. Outside it was dark but few seemed sleepy. Nerves were enough to keep all awake. The wait ended after barely a turn of the hourglass when Conal returned with Gratt, both wearing broad smiles.

‘Good news. It seems Havrick has made the mistake of ordering his men not to go into the keep. They must use the courtyard as their barracks. They are all asleep, except for a couple of sentries, and
have thoughtfully piled their pikes in small pyramids beside their tents. We can have them disarmed and helpless before they even wake up,’ Conal grinned.

Martil stood and stretched.

‘Pass the word. Families can wait here until we send for them. When will they change the guards?’

‘Not for another two turns of the hourglass,’ Gratt said confidently. ‘I’ve been watching them for days now.’

‘Excellent. Come on!’ Martil signalled to his officers.

He left the men waiting outside the entry to the stables, while he, Gratt and Conal eased into the darkened stables and peered out into the courtyard. Martil hissed in disapproval at the sloppy way Havrick’s pikemen had set themselves up. Their tents were in rough rows, but fires lit each one clearly, while the four sentries stood around another fire, talking and drinking rather than doing any watching. Wordlessly, he signalled for the other two to follow him back into the stables, then summoned the others.

‘Tarik’s lads will take out the sentries, the rest of us take the pikes and then we’ll wake the sleepy bastards up,’ Martil ordered. He had had misgivings about stealing weapons from men but the alternative, creeping into their tents and slitting their throats, was not going to be approved by Merren.
Or the Dragon Sword
, he had thought glumly.

‘Are they wearing armour?’ Tarik asked.

‘No, they’re just in tunic and surcoat,’ Conal replied.

‘Broadheads then, lads. Come on.’ Tarik waved his men up, and they spread out, each standing in the shadows of the stables, where they were hidden but
had a clear view of the target. Martil almost felt sorry for the guards. None was more than forty paces away and Tarik’s men had chosen broadhead arrows, which had a traditional steel head as wide as a man’s finger at the base, narrowing to a sharp point. For men in armour it was not as effective; then they would use the bodkin arrow, which had a needle-like head to concentrate the force of impact and drive it through metal. But the broadhead could do terrible damage to an unarmoured man or animal.

‘Ready? Draw and loose!’ Tarik hissed, and the twelve great bows thrummed, a noise that made one of the sentries turn his head. Not quickly enough. Each man was struck by three arrows, the force throwing them from their feet. One jerked for a few moments but then all were still, none having even had the chance to cry out. In the firelight, Martil could see blood sprayed up the walls from where the arrows had ripped into the men.

‘Rocus! Wime! Sirron!’ Martil pointed, showing the men where they should go, and the guardsmen, militia and farm boys fanned out through the pikemen’s camp, groups of men going to each neat pile of pikes, pulling it apart silently then hurrying back to the stables, where they rested the weapons against a wall and went back for more.

‘Tarik, get your lads up on the wall, just in case anything goes wrong,’ Martil ordered.

But it went well—at least until Barrett got himself involved.

‘How goes it?’ he whispered.

Martil gestured to where a steady stream of men carried stolen pikes back to the stables.

‘And the sentries?’

‘Dead. Tarik’s boys took them down before they had a chance to cry out.’

Barrett grabbed Martil’s arm. ‘You should have called me! I could have put them to sleep without killing anyone!’

Martil ripped his arm free. ‘This is a war, wizard. I thought you were tired. And besides, if something goes wrong here, I’ll need you to do it to all of them, not just four.’

‘Can we keep the noise down until we’ve got all the pikes?’ Conal hissed at them.

The stream of men slowed to a trickle, then a grinning Sirron appeared with a pike in his hand.

‘This is the last one, Captain,’ he smiled.

Martil felt the tension leave his shoulders. The town was theirs.

‘Form up! Two lines! Draw swords!’ he ordered quietly. ‘Tell the Count and the Queen that we are ready.’

They swiftly formed up, then Martil took up position at one end, Barrett at the other. Finally, out came Merren and Sendric, both dressed in court finery, to stand with Martil.

‘We are ready, your majesty,’ Martil told her in normal tones.

She nodded. ‘Then begin.’

Martil drew the Dragon Sword. ‘Good morning, gentlemen!’ he bellowed. ‘Come out and bow down before the Queen!’

The pikemen stumbled out of their tents, woken by the shout, but, as it was not a sound of alarm, they were wondering if one of their fellows was playing a joke. They walked out to find their weapons gone, a double line of men in armour,
swords drawn and shields locked, facing them, and a line of archers on the wall above, from where they could pick a man off as easily as a dragon could fly.

‘Where is your officer?’ the Queen demanded.

A short man with curly black hair and sleep-reddened eyes pushed his way to the front.

‘I am Lieutenant Bibbert. Who are you?’ he growled, walking towards her. Unlike most of his men, he had snatched up a dagger before leaving the tent.

‘She’s Queen Merren. And you will be dead if you take another pace!’ Martil barked at him.

Bibbert looked up at the archers, blinked, then came to an abrupt halt. The dagger dropped from his nerveless fingers.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked finally.

‘We are taking back the town. You may either join us, or spend the rest of your lives in the dungeon,’ Merren told them.

‘Taking back the town…You mean to hold it against Captain Havrick?’ Bibbert gasped as the words sank in.

‘More than that. We intend to defeat him,’ Merren said coldly. ‘We have the Dragon Sword!’

But Martil could see they were not impressed. Bibbert was thinking, in fact most of his men were thinking, there was no way such a small group could hold off companies of infantry and cavalry. Join them and you would die, or spend a few days in the dungeon and emerge when Havrick took the town. It was not a difficult choice. One or two men started forwards but were instantly held back by their comrades.

Merren turned to Martil, and her face was sorrowful.

‘Very well, put them in the dungeons,’ she sighed.

‘Take them away!’ Martil ordered Wime and he began to lead the men off, one squad at a time.

‘Is your dungeon big enough?’ Martil asked Sendric.

‘It was built to hold no more than fifty men. We do not have that much crime here. They will be a little crowded, but it will be enough to hold them for a few days, until Havrick is defeated,’ the Count said confidently.

Martil turned to Merren. ‘My Queen, you have one town back under your control,’ he said gravely.

She smiled. ‘Thank you, my lord Champion. Now we must tell the people about it.’

The pikemen were being taken down to the dungeons, but Martil could not relax. The supplies, the horses and the families had to be brought out of the tunnel, and organised. Conal and Gratt disappeared, going to make contact with the town council, while Sendric wanted his old flag to be flown again, a white eagle over a white castle on a sky-blue background. There were too many jobs and not enough men for it, but as dawn lightened the sky, and the last of the pikemen were behind solid iron bars, he was beginning to feel as if they would be finished by noon, at least.

The sounds of the town stirring into life drifted over the wall, and Martil organised for a score of the warhorses to be prepared, as well as Rocus and a squad of his guardsmen.

‘No helms! We want the people to see your faces,’ he instructed. ‘Now, send for the Queen.’

Merren had wanted to ride through the town, to greet the people and show them they were free once more. Since her talk with the women back at the
camp, she was determined to show the people—in this case the townsfolk—that she was worth fighting for and not some distant, uncaring monarch with no concept of ordinary life. Old surcoats with Sendric’s coat of arms were brought out, then Rocus took the flag, and they were ready to go. Karia, naturally, wanted to come along, an idea Merren thought marvellous.

So the townsfolk awoke to the sound of trumpets blaring, looked out of their windows to see the old, familiar flag flying high above the town, and heard a strange procession moving through the streets. First came the town crier, then Rocus with the flag, then Count Sendric, the Queen, an armoured man riding with a small girl and finally a squad of armoured men in Sendric’s colours.

Martil felt faintly ridiculous at first, listening to the crier shout out that the Queen and the Count had returned, and how Sendric was the first free town in Norstalos. But Karia was enjoying it immensely, waving at everyone, whether they waved to her or not.

Word began to spread, and the few sleepy townsfolk who greeted them when they first rode out soon swelled to a crowd, as neighbours were woken and friends and relatives told. Children ran alongside, laughing, and soon the crier was barely able to be heard over the sounds of cheering and music.

Women offered flowers, or plates of food. Martil tried to refuse, but Karia was having none of that. Soon it looked as though he had a small flowering bush riding in front of him, although one that was complaining bitterly because he only let her eat two honeycakes.

By the time they had ridden around the town and were on the way back to the castle, the crowd of
cheering people was so thick, they were hard pressed to keep going without stepping on anybody. And trailing behind them was a huge number of men, both young and old, most carrying some sort of weapon, from crossbow to club to old rusty sword.

‘It’s all going so well!’ Merren laughed.

The gloom that had enveloped her at times back at the camp was gone. She could feel they were really taking a step towards freeing her country. As Queen she had ridden among her people often enough—waving demurely, and receiving the usual waves and a few cheers in return. When Gello had taken over her palace she had stared out at the plaza and longed for the people to show they missed her. She had been disappointed then but this was making up for all of that. The response was huge. She had never seen people so happy to see her. All her doubts had fled now. She was sure this was the way to win back her throne.