The Wounded Guardian (34 page)

By the time Martil and Conal had caught up to Barrett, Karia and Merren, the wizard had put the two guards on the castle gates to sleep and was walking while Merren and Karia rode his horse.

‘A much cleaner way of doing things,’ the wizard said pointedly.

Martil was in no mood to argue with him. What he had told Merren had been true, up to a point. But the real reason he had chased the men was the exultation he felt in killing them. It was made worse by the Dragon Sword. Its power made you invincible. He ignored Barrett and instead hoped this slaughter did not mean the dreams would come back.

They rode through the open gates and into a long gate tunnel, lined with arrow slits and holes in the ceiling.

‘What are they for?’ Karia asked.

‘So the defenders can drop things on whoever is attacking them,’ Martil said automatically.

‘That’s not very nice!’

Martil, still plastered in the blood of the men he had killed, said nothing.

On the other side of the tunnel was a portcullis that appeared rusted into the top of the tunnel, then a large courtyard, enclosed by the castle wall. Stables took up one wall, storerooms another, and the keep the third. It was relatively quiet, barely a dozen people walking around, and it was a few moments before Merren could attract one over.

‘Yes?’ The servant, a tall, thin man with a large nose and receding hair, offered a short bow but did not offer them a title. He stared at the blood-spattered Martil.

‘Tell the Count an old playmate of his daughter is here to see him,’ Merren said carefully.

This time the servant offered a deep bow.

‘Yes, mistress. May I suggest leaving your horses and that other creature in the stables and perhaps cleaning yourselves up? I shall go and speak to the Count.’

‘The Count will know who I am as soon as he gets the message,’ Merren said confidently, watching the man hurry away towards the keep.

‘As long as he is not busy. It can only be a short time until the deaths of those soldiers are reported back to whoever is in command of the garrison here,’ Barrett said.

Martil ignored him.

The guest stables were almost empty, and a pair of bored stableboys were happy enough to take care of their horses, although Martil had to offer them a silver coin apiece to get them to clean off Tomon. He stepped behind some hay bales and changed out of his bloody clothes, using an old horse bucket to wash the rest of the blood off his face and hands.

‘Hurry, Martil, the servant’s coming back,’ Conal called.

Martil quickly pulled on a fresh tunic and joined the others as the servant almost sprinted into the stables.

‘I’d say the Count has told him to treat us as if I were the Queen,’ Merren said with a smile. ‘Now, Martil, don’t show the Dragon Sword until I tell you.’

Martil shrugged. He was suddenly nervous it would not respond to him. After all, he had just killed a man who was trying to surrender.
Another memory I need to forget
, he thought bitterly.

‘The Count…wishes you to join him…in his audience chamber.’ The servant skidded to a halt in front of them, performed a deep and respectful bow only slightly spoiled by his huffing and puffing, and then tried to hurry them towards the keep.

‘About time,’ Merren said coolly.

The sweating servant led them across the courtyard and into the keep. It was unlike most of the fortifications Martil had ever seen. For a start it was carpeted, while the arrow holes were covered with glass, and lanterns and paintings gave relief to the dull stone walls.

They could hear music, and laughter, drifting down from the stairs. Unlike most traditional castle stairs, these ones were wide and wooden, not narrow and stone.

‘I bet even the dungeons have nice warm rugs in here,’ Conal commented, staring at a huge tapestry on one wall.

‘A word of advice. Don’t try to make amusing remarks to the Count. He is a noble of the old school. I may be accepting of my unusual situation
and thus tolerate your pert comments, but the Count will not. Understand?’

Conal offered a sketchy bow. ‘My apologies, your majesty. I shall be silent.’

Merren had no time to offer more advice, for the servant led them along a short passageway that ended in a pair of magnificent oaken doors, not guarded this time but served by two men in the Count’s sky-blue livery.

‘Here we are,’ the servant said simply.

At his bidding, the doors were opened and they walked into a large room. Its grey stone walls were almost completely covered in more colourful paintings and tapestries and it was lit by wide windows that allowed the sun to shine through. A large table and a score of chairs dominated the room but only one man was seated, and he rose as soon as they walked in.

‘Leave us,’ he ordered the servant, but did not look at them until the man had bowed and left, the doors shutting behind him.

Martil stared at the Count—for surely it had to be he—an older man with thinning grey hair and a close-cropped grey beard. He was dressed richly, although his tunic was straining a little at the waist, and his lined face showed the effects of stress and worry.

As soon as the doors shut the Count went down on one knee.

‘Your majesty! I hardly dared believe it! How did you escape?’

Merren stepped forward and extended her hand, raising the Count to his feet.

‘Sendric, we now have a wielder for the Dragon Sword. My escape is thanks to him and my magician Barrett. It is no thanks to you and the other nobles
who left me defenceless in my own palace, unable to stop the machinations of Gello. But I bring you the opportunity to redeem yourself and wipe away the shame of deserting your Queen in a time of need.’

Martil winced at the expression on Sendric’s face.

‘Your majesty, I was tricked into leaving, Gello sent men to take over my town. Surely you can…’ Sendric began but she cut him off.

‘I would like to hear your reasons but I fear our time is short. We were forced to fight off some of Gello’s men and the garrison could be roused against us at any time.’

‘What? Gello has three companies of infantry here now, not the usual single company. I have only a score of personal guards and while many of the senior militia are loyal to me, I could not ask them to fight armed soldiers. The commander is a decent enough man, he’s left the running of the town to me, just ensures there’s no protests or rallies in the streets but if he knows you are here…’

Merren interrupted him once more. ‘My dear Sendric, as I told you, we have the Dragon Sword. Give us men, arms and money and we will raise the surrounding country, then the town against them and use Sendric as a base to take back my country.’

Sendric blanched at her statement.

‘Your majesty, what you propose has significant risks for both me and my family. And I must ask, where is my daughter?’

Merren waved his question away. ‘She stayed behind, acting as a decoy to allow me to escape. Now, I have a list of what we need…’

The count bowed his head.

‘The Duke, for all his faults, is not a foolish man. He knows the love I have for my daughter. Since my
wife died, she…your majesty, he will use her against me if I help you. I know he will!’

Martil felt the first twinges of alarm. Here they were, deep in a castle, at the power of a man who was giving every indication he did not want to risk becoming involved in a rebellion.

‘I too fear for Rana’s safety,’ Merren agreed. ‘But I fear for our country far more so! Your daughter, my dearest friend, put this country above herself. Do not insult that gesture, Sendric. She knew what she was risking. We have the Dragon Sword. With it we can inspire the men of this town to rise with us. Three companies of Gello’s men, you say? Well, there would be 3,000 men in this town and the surrounding villages! Once they know we have the Dragon Sword, they will be eager to join!’

The count’s face showed the struggle within. He caught Martil’s eye and Martil knew what he was thinking. They might be able to raise a mob but what would they be armed with? Pitchforks and kitchen knives? Even 300 trained men would create a terrible slaughter among such opponents before being defeated. And there was no guarantee the mob would not be broken and sent running for their lives. Whatever happened, his town would pay a terrible price, and most likely, his daughter would pay the ultimate price for his actions.

‘Your majesty,’ Sendric began heavily. ‘The people are not ready to rise up. The arrival of so many soldiers has cowed them, not angered them. The time is not right…’

Again he was interrupted, this time by a warning horn, followed by a second, and then a third.

‘They have discovered the missing patrol,’ Conal spat.

The words seemed to help the Count to a decision.

‘Follow me. I shall help you escape from here. I take it you will be staying at the magician’s lodge a few miles away?’

‘How did you know of that?’ Barrett growled, before the Queen could wave him to silence.

‘Some of my huntsmen discovered it. Fear not, they have been sworn to secrecy. I shall send word to you there,’ he said.

‘But, my lord Count—does that mean you are refusing to help?’

‘My Queen, I cannot risk it. My daughter, my town, and the people I have lived with and protected for decades—I cannot see a bloody battle in these streets. But I will help you escape. Perhaps the Dragon Sword can bring men towards it in the hills.’

‘Men who need food, shelter and arms and armour,’ Martil snapped. ‘We have the Sword! I thought that meant everything to you Norstalines?’ He drew the Sword and held it up for the count’s inspection.

His eyes showed his distress, but Sendric just lowered his head. ‘I wish I could help. But I know the spirit of this town—and all I can see is my daughter in Duke Gello’s power. Her life dependent on his mercy. I am sorry. I can do no more.’

Merren stepped forwards, her eyes blazing.

‘Sendric, I am not asking. This is your Queen ordering you to do your duty!’

The Count bowed his head, his voice so low they could barely hear it. ‘But as you reminded me, you are not on the throne, your majesty. I cannot do what you ask.’ Rather than face her, he strode over to the wall and tugged on a golden bellpull. Almost instantly the same servant burst through the doors.

‘Gratt, these guests are to leave unseen, you understand? The side tunnel to the stables and then the lower tunnel out of the town,’ he instructed the man.

‘But, Sendric, I implore you…’ the Queen began.

Sendric said nothing, he merely sat down in a seat and refused to look at them.

The servant crossed over to a large, unlit candelabra fixed to the wall, and pulled on it. A loud click sounded and then he heaved on a huge painting of a dragon, which swung away from the wall like a door to reveal a hidden staircase.

‘Hurry, please!’ the servant urged, taking and lighting a lantern.

They looked to the Queen but Merren seemed numbed by Sendric’s refusal.

‘Let’s go,’ Martil said finally.

Still Merren did not move, and Karia had to grab her hand and almost drag her along to get her out of the audience chamber. Martil and the others followed behind. He cast a glance over his shoulder as the door grated shut and saw the Count slumped at the table, his face in his hands.

‘What do we do now?’ Conal asked.

Merren did not answer him, and after a pause, Barrett spoke up.

‘We go back to the lodge, and from there come up with a new plan. This is a setback, but we shall regather ourselves,’ the wizard stated, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. He was barely visible in the gloom, then he moved his hand over the top of his staff and the next moment, there was a flame burning there, giving light but no smoke, yet not damaging the wood.

Karia exclaimed in delight and the servant’s eyes widened in shock, but the Queen just kept walking.

‘He should have helped us. And he refused even when he saw the Dragon Sword! Why did it not work on him? He is a good man,’ Merren muttered, almost to herself.

‘It may have been the, er, incident with the guards before we went in. The Dragon Sword can hardly have been impressed by the use with to it was put,’ Barrett said, with a glance at Martil.

‘So I should have let those guards just arrest us? Would that have been better?’ Martil’s temper flared up. ‘Why is it my fault?’

‘Well, you were the one who cut down an unarmed man,’ Barrett pointed out.

Martil was not prepared to acknowledge his guilt to the wizard. ‘If you think I’m so useless, why don’t you find another wielder for this Sword? Oh, that’s right, you couldn’t!’ he snarled, his voice echoing down the stairs.

Barrett stopped. ‘I did not find you. You found me. And anyway, the punishment for an unworthy wielder is worse than anything I might dream up. You will die horribly if you do not live up to the Sword,’ he shouted.

Karia cried in alarm and Martil stepped forward, opening his mouth to continue the argument, when the servant stepped in, hands raised.

‘This is a secret passageway, but will not remain so if you continue to shout at each other,’ he said sharply, then bowed when they glared at him.

‘Lead on,’ Martil said grumpily.

The stairs twisted and turned, then finished in a flagstone-paved passageway. It was surprisingly wide and high, and they could feel a slight breeze blowing in their faces. Even so, it smelt musty. The servant led them on, peering at the wall, before exclaiming
with satisfaction and drawing up a pair of long bolts that were sunk into the floor near a darker patch of stone wall.

‘I’ll need a little help here,’ he said, putting his shoulder to the wall. Martil leaned in to help and together they forced it open, to allow a surge of light into the dim passageway.

‘These are the stables. Get in there and get your horses swiftly. The guards could be here at any moment,’ the servant instructed.

Martil eased his way inside, blinking at the light, even though the stables were not as bright as outside. Conal came with him, and together they grabbed the horses and their bags. The horns were still blowing, and luckily the noise had drawn the stableboys out into the courtyard. It was easy enough to lead the horses out of the stables; the stable side of the door was just a plain piece of stone wall that held a few old hooks and some cleaning implements. The floor was clean, so there would be no mysterious hoofprints that disappeared into a wall. Best of all, the stableboys had done a fine job in cleaning Tomon in a short time, Martil was pleased to see. Once safely back in the passage, Martil helped the servant pull on a large iron ring to haul the door shut, then force the bolts home.