The Wounded Guardian (23 page)

‘Where is she being kept?’ he asked.

‘In the palace. Perhaps we can find out her routine and the ideal spot to snatch her back,’ Barrett offered.

‘Then we should hurry,’ Martil said heavily. ‘Havrick is going to report our meeting and that he suspects I have the Dragon Sword. We need to act before then.’

‘Are you finished? Can I see some magic now?’ Karia complained.

Barrett chuckled. The Ralloran was coming around, so he could afford to be pleasant. ‘You have been patient. Here you are.’ He took a large nut from the side of his plate and tossed it lightly into the air. It flew around the room, swooping up and down before bouncing off Conal’s head and landing in Karia’s hand, where she stared at it, amazed.

‘That was fantastic! I could feel the magic then,’ she exclaimed.

‘You could feel the magic?’ Barrett asked sharply.

‘How is it one so young as you became the Queen’s Magician? I though all wizards were dried-up old sticks,’ Conal interrupted, rubbing his head.

Barrett sniffed. The Ralloran he had to be pleasant to, but this smelly old man had nothing he needed. ‘That is the traditional image of the wizard, the old man with the long beard. Many of those with little talent show that image, in order to impress the gullible. But age is no barrier. Good health is. Any age can work magic. A child can work magic, if they are taught how. In fact, the younger you are the better, for the young have greater energy. It is a paradox. At the time when you have the greatest energy, you have the least amount of knowledge. At the time you have the greatest knowledge, you have the least amount of energy to apply it. I became the Queen’s Magician because I spent my youth rigorously studying. While other novices were happy enough to get to the First or Second Circle, then relax, go drinking and enjoy themselves, I worked, both on my fitness and my skills. Now I am as strong as any warrior yet have the knowledge to use this strength to perform magic.’ He sent another nut around the room, where it bounced three times on Conal’s head before landing before Karia.

‘Why don’t you use your staff when you do magic? You hold it but your other hand is the thing that releases the magic,’ Karia asked.

Barrett had been chuckling at the expression on Conal’s face, but looked closely at her instead. ‘How do you know I don’t use my staff?’

‘I just do. Besides, I can see it is just wood.’

Barrett hesitated. There was something about this girl. Was this anything to do with the Dragon Sword
and the changes to a Butcher of Bellic? ‘You’re right. The staff is a symbol, sometimes a weapon, and comes in handy when you are tired after using magic,’ he admitted.

‘This is all very well, but we need to do some serious planning. We have to get across the country and into the city unseen, then get the Queen out again, all under the noses of Gello’s guards.’ Martil decided to bring things back on track.

Barrett laughed. ‘You forget who you are with. I can get you into the city, and then get us all out again, using magic. It is the same way I travelled here. Then I shall have a brilliant plan to snatch the Queen out from under Gello’s nose, raise an army and take back the country.’

‘I bet plenty of bards performed sagas at the palace,’ Martil observed.

‘Why do you say that?’ asked a baffled Barrett.

‘No reason,’ Martil shrugged, but it merely confirmed his suspicions that Barrett thought this was some sort of saga. Things did not happen that easily in real life. If Martil had regiments of heavy cavalry and trained infantry under his command, he would be happy to take on a rabble of farmers and townsfolk. But he said nothing.

He was committed now, it seemed, locked in by magic.

‘We’d better get ready then,’ he sighed.

Father Nott was surprised to receive a summons from the Archbishop only a day after arriving back in Norstalos City. He had been barely aware of the journey from Chell to the capital. The church had provided a comfortable carriage but his mind was solely on Karia and Martil. He could not help but
dwell on their conversation. Had he done enough? Had he done too much? In his heart he knew he could not have told Martil everything. Keen judge of human character that he was, he knew giving Martil too much, too quickly, would have the opposite effect. The man was just not ready to be told he was to be a saviour once more. Forcing him to take on such a burden so quickly would result in him running away. Far better for him to take on a little at a time. Nott liked to refer to it as loaf-of-bread tactics. A man would not swallow a whole loaf, but if you gave it to him one slice at a time…

He did wonder about the summons from the Archbishop but assumed it was traditional for all returned priests to meet with the head of the church. He hoped it would not result in some sort of presentation. He hated that sort of thing.

He was surprised to find it was in the Archbishop’s office, a magnificent room that—apart from the religious tone of the paintings on the walls and the fact an altar, not a throne, was the centrepoint of the room—was remarkably similar to a king’s office. He was even more surprised to see that the Archbishop himself was waiting by a pair of beautiful gilded chairs, a small table laid with refreshments between them.

‘Father Nott! Welcome! And thank you for a magnificent life of service to your people and your church! Please, sit and join me. A cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, your eminence,’ was all Nott could manage.

The Archbishop helped him sit, then poured him tea and offered it to him carefully.

Nott was at a loss for words. He had only seen the Archbishop a handful of times, and never this close.
Archbishop Declan was a handsome, polished man with a fine head of silver hair. He was responsible for hundreds of priests, dozens of bishops, a huge amount of property and wealth. In terms of political power, he was able to wield as much as the strongest noble—if he chose. He was a tall, fit man, with wide shoulders and a powerful personality. Nott was somewhat overwhelmed by him.

‘This is too kind, your eminence,’ he said lamely, sipping his tea.

‘Nonsense. Do you think I give private tea parties to every returned priest? My dear fellow, I just don’t have the time!’ The Archbishop sipped his own tea and then put the cup down deliberately. ‘Tell me of Martil and Karia.’

Nott nearly spilt his tea over himself.

‘What do you want to know?’

The Archbishop sighed. ‘I know of your attachment to the girl. But I must know if the man is up to the task. Will he do what needs to be done?’

Nott looked at the Archbishop and was shocked, and frightened, to see the polished mask was gone. Instead his eyes burned into Nott’s and his face showed a man under immense strain.

‘I—I cannot say for sure, your eminence. He is a man on the edge. Tell him to do something and he is likely to go in the opposite direction. I gave him a glimpse of the path but only time can tell…’ Nott trailed off as the Archbishop’s face spasmed in a mix of anger and fear. ‘Your eminence, if you will permit me, what is it you have seen?’

The Archbishop sighed. ‘I have seen nothing of what happens to Martil and Karia. But my fear is for the church. We are approaching a pivotal point in time. The church—indeed the world—could
change forever. And not for the better. Fearpriests are infesting the continent. Berellia has fallen to them. I have been contacted by one Father Saltek, who tells me he is probably the last priest of Aroaril left in the country! He has been forced into hiding as the Fearpriests hunt down all who oppose them. Meanwhile, the church of Aroaril is threatening to splinter. There are those among us, even among my bishops, who feel we should wield more secular power, that we should not restrict ourselves to the spiritual needs of the people. Did you know that once, if a priest was not able to call upon Aroaril for magic, I would replace him, bring him here until he either regained Aroaril’s favour or left our service? Well, there are so many of them now, I cannot do it. I replace them where I can but their numbers are too great…Then there are those who complain at the growing number of women being inducted into the priesthood. They want it stopped. Never mind that we have always done so; never mind that no woman has ever needed to be removed from service—and never mind that those behind that particular campaign lost Aroaril’s favour years ago. The country, the continent, even the world needs the church more than ever and I fear…I fear we are not equal to the challenge. The Dark God is among us once more and we will not be the ones to stop him. In fact, some of our number will help him. It will fall to Martil and Karia, and others, to save us all. I just want to know if this man is able to do that.’

Nott, who had listened to the Archbishop’s words with mounting horror, just stared at him in silence when he finished. Finally, he cleared his throat.

‘Your eminence, I know what you want to hear but—but I do not know if he can…’

Conal and Martil went through the cabin’s cupboards and took what was left—dried oats, smoked meat, salt and honey—to replenish their supplies. There was little left but plenty had obviously been eaten recently, judging by the amount of empty packages.

‘What is this place?’ Conal asked. ‘Who lives here?’

‘This is a royal magician’s cabin. We sometimes need to move around the country quickly, and when we arrive, need somewhere quiet to rest and relax, to recover our strength. Magic wards protect them, while a local family ensures they are kept clean and stocked with both food and firewood, in exchange for a yearly stipend. I know the location of them all, dotted across the country, and they are a useful place to hide. Now, if we are finished with the stupid questions, we should go.’

Conal went out to load up the horses, Karia helping him carry some of the things as his left arm could not hold as much without a hand. Barrett waited until she was out the door, then stopped Martil from following them.

‘I think she may be able to do magic,’ he said softly. ‘She’s been dreaming of dragons, and they’ve been calling to her. That’s a classic sign. Then she picked the staff was not a magical conduit—few people realise that. Did you know her parents?’

So Martil was forced to quickly tell the story, and Barrett looked thoughtful.

‘Interesting. The intervention of Aroaril, the old priest recognising strange signs. It fits. I’d still have to test her, but I think she should be trained.’

‘But she’s just a little girl!’

‘Makes no difference. You’d be surprised how many women can do magic. Of course, society sometimes frowns on that, and many are prevented from achieving their full potential. But we have a Queen now, so perhaps that stigma will be gone. Or at least reduced. At the moment, sadly, many of my older colleagues still believe you need to have a staff to be a wizard, not the other way around.’

Martil acknowledged the little joke but his mind was more on what Karia could become. Would he be magically enslaved to be her servant, forced to keep providing her with food and amusement? If so, things would not change much, he admitted to himself.

‘We should get moving. The test for Karia can wait; besides, I need all my strength for the trip.’

Martil was intrigued by how they would travel—by dragon?—but decided not to provoke another lecture from the wizard. They loaded up the animals and Barrett led them further up the trail, away from the road.

‘You don’t have to come along, you know,’ Martil told Conal, whose donkey puffed after them. ‘You could slip away.’

The old bandit shrugged. ‘I told you I’d like to give you a hand. Besides, if we can get the Queen out and win back the country, I want a royal pardon and a sackful of gold.’

Barrett guided them for perhaps a hundred paces, then stopped in front of a massive oak tree, whose roots formed a natural step in the path.

‘We shall use this to get to Norstalos City,’ he announced.

‘How? Do we chop it down and fly it?’ Conal grinned.

Barrett slapped the massive bole of the trunk.
‘Watch, fool, and see how I can harness nature’s power to create magic. Now you should do something useful and blindfold the horses, as well as that creature you are riding. They rarely enjoy this type of journey.’

Once he saw Conal was using old tunics to cover the animals’ eyes, Barrett closed his own eyes, then reached out to touch the tree’s trunk with one hand, the other hand using his staff to prop himself up.

He grunted with effort and Karia gave a squeal of excitement. ‘Look! I can see what he’s doing! We’re going to the city!’

Martil looked at Conal but the old bandit seemed equally baffled. They turned to Barrett, to see the wizard’s face tight with concentration. ‘It is done. We must hurry,’ he croaked.

‘What’s done?’ Martil could not see any change within the tree, and had no idea how a tree could get them across the country anyway.

‘Look! It’s beautiful! There’s grass there!’ Karia laughed, grabbed Martil’s hand and dragged him towards the tree.

‘Bring my horse with you, and hurry!’ Barrett snapped at Conal, who made no move to obey, but just stood there foolishly. ‘Move, man!’ Barrett’s voice still had enough authority in it to make Conal jump to obey.

Martil tried to hold Karia back, afraid she would hurt herself on the tree. But then Barrett lifted his staff and thrust it into the tree trunk. Martil nearly cried out in shock when the staff, instead of thudding into solid wood, seemed to disappear into the trunk.

‘Hold the staff as you go through. It will guide you. Make sure you do not break contact with it or you will become lost,’ Barrett grunted.

Martil still hung back but Karia had no such fears. She pressed her hand against Barrett’s staff and simply walked into the tree. Instead of smashing into it and falling to the ground, as Martil’s eyes and brain insisted must happen, she vanished.

‘Karia!’ Martil’s heart lurched and he rushed after her, dragging the blindfolded Tomon along with one hand, as he reached for the staff with the other. Instinctively he closed his eyes. But instead of crashing into the tree, he stepped into open space. He opened them to see he was standing on grass, with the sun on his face, in front of a large oak tree only this one was not beside a trail in the forest.