The Wounded Guardian (12 page)

Martil took their hands in the warrior’s grip, wrist to wrist, feeling a little sheepish, then rode past them until a stableboy came running over.

‘We need a room for the night,’ he announced, holding up a gold piece.

‘I’ll get the boss,’ the boy said immediately, and scampered off.

‘Why do people do things for you?’ asked Karia.

‘Because I have gold. People do things for gold.’ Martil shrugged, not wanting to go into his past history with Ralloran soldiers.

‘Da thought people would do things for him if he threatened to hurt them. I like gold better,’ Karia said solemnly.

The throne room was full; scores of army officers and nobles milling around, talking quietly. Why had King Markuz summoned them here in the middle of the day and why was every window covered with metal shutters? Earl Byrez, who had ridden from his northern castle to reach this meeting, wondered what this meant.

‘The King!’ a servant bellowed and the room fell silent instantly.

Markuz strode over to his throne, but did not sit down.

‘Berellia will rise again!’ he roared.

Immediately the officers erupted into cheers, although Byrez noted that many of the nobles, such as himself, were a little less enthusiastic.

‘Already one of the Butchers of Bellic is dead! The other four will follow soon enough! Soon their black hearts will be paraded around the country for all to see!’

This time all cheered.

‘And we shall finally achieve all we deserve! Not in Rallora but by ruling Norstalos!’ Markuz continued.

This time the cheering was isolated; even the youngest officer knew such a thing was impossible.

‘My friends, this is true. Norstalos will ask us for help. Together, as partners, we shall rule this world although there will only be one eventual ruler!’

Scattered applause and confused murmuring met those words and Byrez saw his King’s face tighten in anger.

‘But if we are to finally achieve our destiny, we need more men. I order you to begin recruiting again. Train me a new army, so that we might lead it to victory once more!’

Silence greeted those words, and Byrez felt his legs move.

‘Sire, how can this be possible?’ he asked. ‘Our forces are a shadow of the army that marched south. If we attack Norstalos, then the very existence of Berellia will be in doubt!’

Byrez glanced left and right, and saw many heads nodding agreement. He was not watching them; he was looking for Cezar. Surely the King’s Champion would be paying him a visit soon…

But Markuz merely held out his hands for quiet.

‘This time it will be different. This time we shall be victorious! For we have divine help!’

He gestured and a robed and cowled figure stepped forwards into the light.

Byrez let out a gasp of horror and grabbed at where his sword should have been—if he had not surrendered it to the King’s guards already.

‘A Fearpriest! We are to ally ourselves to such as that?’ he cried.

‘We already have,’ Markuz said coldly. ‘Aroaril deserted us. He defeated us in Rallora! Only divine intervention could have stopped us there. Then we were betrayed and stabbed in the back by traitors back home. Glorious Berellia has become polluted,
corrupted, weak. With the help of Brother Onzalez we shall burn out this corruption, forge a pure new society and take our rightful place as rulers of the world! Any who do not want to join must be seen as traitors. For all true Berellians would want to see their fatherland great again.’

‘My friends, turning to Zorva is not the answer! Do not stand by and let evil take hold of our country!’ Byrez appealed.

‘If you are not with us, you are against Berellia. Anyone who does not want to share in the glorious future that awaits Berellia can leave now!’ Markuz roared.

Byrez knew that to do so was a death sentence; he also knew that there were some things worse than death. With a stare around the room—none would meet his eyes—he stalked out, shutting the doors behind him. He half-expected to meet his death on the other side, but apart from the usual guards, nobody tried to stop him. Byrez decided to ride for home immediately, hoping he’d reach it.

Markuz stared around the other nobles and officers. None followed the Earl but many watched him go.

‘Tell Cezar to get back here as quickly as possible,’ Markuz told Onzalez out of the side of his mouth, before waving his arms again.

‘Gather round, my friends, and hear how we shall have our final victory!’

Kettering had just about got his hair right when one of the stableboys came running into his office. As under-manager of the Crown and Sparrow, Kettering was responsible for the dining room and sleeping rooms. The bar was the over-manager’s responsibility, ever
since Kettering’s little incident with the two Avish warriors and his hair. But Kettering felt most of the town seemed to have forgotten about that by now. Still, he liked to make sure his hair looked its best, so he used the special salve the apothecary had given him to keep it in place across his scalp once he had curled it over the top from where it hung long beside each ear.

‘Guests, sir, with gold,’ the stableboy blurted.

His hair was not quite as neat as he would have liked, but gold was too important to ignore, so he followed the liveried stableboy out to the yard, where a warrior and his daughter sat on a magnificent horse. The man looked like a brute, with his scars, his cold grey eyes and his two swords, while his daughter’s bare feet were filthy. He could not help but cast a glance over towards the gate, where the hired muscle was at call. They merely waved back at him. He decided he might need to speak to them later. He did not want any old riff-raff staying here. Still, you had to give people a chance. You never knew who had bags of money. He composed his face into a smile of welcome and strode out to greet them.

‘I am Kettering, Under-manager of the Crown. How may I help you?’ he oiled.

For answer, the warrior hefted his moneybag and let the sound of its heavy coins jingle significantly. ‘A good room with two bedrooms. Dinner and breakfast,’ he said simply.

‘Well, I’ll see what I can do,’ Kettering said cautiously, looking carefully at the moneybag. Surely it could not all be gold.

‘You’ll do what he says, because he’s got lots of gold,’ Karia piped up.

Both men looked at her, astonished, but it was Kettering who recovered first. He nodded to the
guards at the gate, letting them know they had done the right thing, then he bowed low, feeling a twinge of fear as his carefully-arranged hair shifted just slightly.

‘Well then, please leave your horse here, and follow me. We have some fine rooms, I can assure you, while our cooks are some of the best in this town,’ he said effusively, and turned to where a gaggle of stableboys waited. Tomon was led off to be unsaddled, brushed and fed, while Martil and Karia followed the prancing Kettering, and three boys followed them, staggering under the weight of Martil’s saddlebags.

Martil was amused by the man’s antics. He was prepared to put up with the fool, because one look inside the inn showed Menner’s recommendation was right—it was easily one of the better ones he had seen in Norstalos.

Karia was awed by the inn. After the deliberate simplicity of Father Nott’s home, and the wreckage of her da’s farm, the thick carpets, heavy brass lanterns, wooden panelling and rich furniture were very impressive.

‘Sir, we do ask our guests not to walk around with their weapons,’ Kettering remarked as he led them up a sweeping staircase. ‘We have the very best men employed to keep things quiet. Rallorans, you know. And of course, as we like to say, the only sword that can keep the peace is the Dragon Sword—and you are hardly likely to carry that.’

Martil shrugged. ‘I’ll leave them in my room,’ he agreed.

There was plenty of space. The ‘room’ turned out to be several: one comfortable sitting room, with several wide couches, a table and six cushioned
chairs. To one side were a large bedroom and a bathroom, to the other was a second bedroom.

‘Da’s farm wasn’t as big as this,’ Karia exclaimed.

Martil saw Kettering’s eyebrows disappear up towards where his hairline should be.

‘I’m taking her to her uncle’s. It was the dying wish of her father,’ he told the man.

Kettering opened his mouth to ask another question, then looked into the warrior’s cold eyes and decided discretion was, after all, a vital part of his job.

‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay with us, and if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.’ He had the boys place the bags on the table, handed a large brass key to Martil, then disappeared.

‘What should we do now?’ Karia asked. She wanted to jump on the bed, but felt awed a little by the richness of the furnishings.

‘Baths before dinner,’ Martil said firmly.

He ignored her protests to carry her into the bathroom, where a large bath took pride of place. There were two taps, one red, the other blue, and he filled the bath, using the noise of the water to drown her defiant cries that she would not need a wash.

‘I had one yesterday! Da says you only need one twice a year!’ she yelled. ‘The water’s all cold.’ ‘This one is warm. See?’

Intrigued, she tested the water, to find it was warm. ‘How do they do that?’

Martil struggled to find the answer. ‘Obviously they warm it up with a fire.’

‘How?’

Martil finished filling the bath, began his hunt for soap and tried a joke. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they have a dragon in the cellar.’

‘Wow! A dragon! Can we go and see it?’

Martil felt like hitting himself. ‘They don’t have a dragon. Now, have a bath.’

Only the threat of no dinner until she was bathed saw a reluctant Karia in the bath.

‘Right, now wash yourself and then call me when it is time to wash your hair,’ Martil told her.

Karia stared at him angrily. The water did feel nice but she could remember the bath from yesterday, with Father Nott. That was where she wanted to be. It was time to remind this Martil who was really in charge.

‘I want to get out,’ she told him.

‘You will stay in here and wash yourself,’ he told her.

‘Won’t.’

Martil realised he had backed himself into a corner, and judging from the triumph in her eyes, she knew it too. Well, he might have fallen into the enemy’s trap, but the only way out was to do the unexpected.

‘Fine,’ he sighed. Time to take a lesson out of that Menner’s book and try something different. He hunted around swiftly for something that could be used as a toy. There was nothing except a long-handled scrubbing brush. And nothing to do but pretend it was alive and a friendly creature. It was hard to do. But he hated being defeated more than he hated being made to look foolish.

Karia was determined to yell and scream but instead of reaching for the soap, he produced the long-handled scrubbing brush and announced its name was Mr Brush and wanted to meet her.

Despite herself, she was intrigued. What did he think he was doing? She forgot about yelling as Mr Brush pretended to swim, then started tickling her on
the toes. By the time she worked out it was a trick, there was soap in her hair and on her feet and the bathwater was dirty.

When the bath was finished, Martil was sweating lightly and looking forward to a bath himself. It had been a victory, but hardly one to compare with the battle of Mount Shadar, his first as a war captain. Still, you had to start somewhere.

‘You go out and dry yourself, while I have a bath,’ he suggested. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

He was a funny man, she decided. Not even Father Nott had tried something like Mr Brush. She let him wrap two big warm, fluffy towels around her, then sit her on a soft chair while she ate an apple. That was nice, but when it was finished she was bored, so she decided to see what he was doing.

Martil had just sunk deep into a hot bath and relaxed when Karia walked back into the bathroom.

He sat up quickly, reached for the scrubbing brush, then remembered he couldn’t use that, so tried to place his hand nonchalantly on the water to cover himself. The water was deep, but not deep enough for his liking.

‘Aren’t you done yet? When’s dinner? My hair’s still wet and it’s running water down my back,’ she blurted out in one continuous stream.

‘Well, go and wait outside and I’ll be out in a bit,’ he insisted. She made no move to do so and the water wasn’t getting any deeper, so he tried again. ‘Why not look in my bag for an almond-honey sweet?’

She stomped off and he reached for a towel, only to discover she had all the big towels, and he had to make do with one not even big enough to wrap around his waist.

‘I think I preferred it when she was screaming at me,’ he told his reflection.

Dressed, and only slightly damp, Martil escorted Karia downstairs shortly afterwards. The dining room of the inn was huge, taking up most of the second floor, and even this early it was half-filled with hungry families as well as a number of men, and a few women, eating alone. They ate beef pie and vegetables and she began to ask questions again. A plate of fruit was called for, and while she worked her way through that, with some assistance from him, he began to realise he was attracting quite a bit of attention from women in the room, especially one woman eating by herself two tables away. But while Karia was no doubt helping attract these looks, having her at the table meant he could hardly leave her and go over for a chat. ‘I’m bored now. What can we do?’ Karia asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Martil was stumped. This was an inn. You ate, then you drank. If there was a bard performing, you left. If there wasn’t, you got into a fight or you found an attractive woman, not necessarily in that order. Those had been the only things he had done at inns for as long as he could remember. But he could not see how a small girl fitted into any of that.

‘Do you want to play with Dolly upstairs?’ he asked.

‘No. Can’t you read to me?’

Martil watched the woman two tables away. She had long brown hair, and brown eyes, and was wearing a long green gown that clung to all the right places, as far as he could see.

‘You wouldn’t like my books. I think I have some dice in my bags—you could play with those.’

‘Show me how.’

Reluctantly Martil dragged his eyes back to Karia. ‘Fine,’ he sighed.

He hoped he could get Karia to sleep in one of the bedrooms and then be back in time to talk to the woman. Upstairs, he dug out the bone dice he and his friends had once used to pass the time in barracks, when the Ralloran army had had a barracks. Everything was fine for the first few throws, then Martil dug out a few copper coins to play with. Karia was delighted to have some money of her own, she made it into little towers, she rolled it around and she even hugged it. The one thing Da had talked about endlessly when she had lived with him was money. How good it was to have it. How you could buy all sorts of things with it. Now she had money, she could do what she wanted. Even go and live with Father Nott.