The Wounded Guardian (28 page)

‘Can I help you? You do know this is a church?’ he said superciliously, staring with contempt at the scruffy, one-handed Conal and the scantily-clad Rabbag.

‘We are looking for a private prayer room. We seek to beseech Aroaril to intervene in the case of our misled sister, and unfortunate uncle,’ Martil said soothingly. He and Barrett had been worried the wizard would be recognised, so Barrett had left his staff at the oak tree ready for a quick escape. He wore a hooded cloak and waited at the back of the group. ‘Naturally we would be making a substantial donation to the church, and might even need to pay for your intervention later, should our prayers not be answered.’ Martil produced a small pouch, which he offered to the priest.

The priest’s expression thawed a little as he felt the weight of the pouch, then he looked inside and smiled warmly.

‘Of course the church seeks to bring sinners back to the path of righteousness. How long will you need the room?’ He took out a gold piece and examined it idly.

‘Hey, that better not be one of mine!’ Rabbag snarled.

‘It could be some time,’ Martil admitted to the priest, as Barrett hastily, and quietly, reassured Rabbag that they had plenty of gold.

‘I understand. Please call me if you wish to pay for a more personal intervention.’ The priest smiled, and Martil noticed his eyes lingered on Rabbag’s ample cleavage as he spoke.

They were given a small prayer room, which came with just the sunburst symbol of Aroaril on one wall, two pews and a seat. Barrett pushed back his hood and peered out of the door until he was sure the priest had gone.

‘Father Prent’s a powerful man in the church,’ Barrett sniffed. ‘It is rumoured he knows about every scandal in the last ten years and has every priest with a dark secret in his pocket. That is how he secured this post, although he is no friend of the church hierarchy or indeed the Queen.’

‘Whadda we do now?’ Rabbag demanded.

‘We wait,’ Martil said simply. ‘You can sleep, read, or try to reconnect with Aroaril.’

‘Sleep it is then,’ she sniffed.

Strangely, Karia was not much of a problem. She enjoyed being read to by Martil, and there was plenty of food for her to eat. Then she let Conal read to her while Martil dozed for a while. Even when she had lived with Father Nott, she had not had this much attention. After all, Father Nott had to look after his parish as well. But now, all she had to do was ask, and people did things for her. It was wonderful!

Meanwhile Barrett paced up and down and often peered out the door. To think he was this close to
freeing the Queen had him excited, but he was still afraid. So much could go wrong. Although he was sure his powers would allow him to survive, the Queen must not lose this chance for freedom—and he did not want to lose this chance to impress the Queen.

‘Where are they? When will this waiting end?’ he demanded.

‘Isn’t he annoying?’ Karia remarked, which Martil found hilarious.

When Barrett wasn’t pacing, he was drumming his fingers on a pew, or tossing an apple idly up and down in the air. Often he looked at Rabbag with a strange expression on his face.

‘You need to relax. You’ll use up all your energy,’ Martil suggested coolly.

‘I’m worried about the Queen,’ Barrett snapped back.

Martil shrugged and went back to reading to Karia, only she looked up, no longer interested in the book.

‘I can hear something!’ she said excitedly.

‘That’s her snores,’ Conal grunted, gesturing towards where Rabbag lay on a pew, her mouth open and a trail of spittle oozing onto the wood.

‘Make way!’ A soldier’s cry brought them to alertness.

‘Get ready!’ Barrett barked, which made Rabbag snort and sit up, rubbing her eyes blearily.

‘Time to earn your money,’ the wizard told her.

‘All right. Where do you want to do it?’ she said automatically.

Luckily the sound of hooves on cobbles and the rumble of carriage wheels prevented Karia’s questions. Martil took a deep breath. He felt his heart start racing and his stomach churn. These were
familiar feelings, which would stay until he started fighting, which he rather hoped would not be at all today. He had had a dispute with Havrick, but that was only one officer. Now he was going to set himself against Gello and make himself the focal point of a probable civil war. The very thing he had sworn to avoid. Again he had that feeling of being pushed along by events. Just because he had stopped to talk to a bandit in the woods, and had lost his temper. It was ridiculous. At least back in Rallora he had been fighting for a cause he believed in, right up until the end. This was a cause he barely understood. A girl’s suggestion, a wizard’s warning and the smile of a queen; that was all it had taken to grip him. How could it have happened so easily? But going back was not an option and there was no time to think about it any further.

‘Get ready,’ he said softly. ‘Stay quiet until we hear the Queen enter.’

‘No! You and Karia go outside. You are unknown to them. Pretend to be praying and then you can signal us,’ Barrett hissed.

Martil saw the sense of that at once. ‘Come on,’ he held out his hand to Karia, who took it and followed him out into the church.

They slid into a pew as the priest hurried past them, as he had obviously heard the sounds of the Queen’s escort as well. Now these sounds stopped, then the church door banged open and the Queen’s party walked in. Martil turned his head—he knew everyone else in the church would as well—to see the Queen and four ladies-in-waiting walk in, all wearing long hooded cloaks.

Father Prent walked up to her. ‘Can I do anything for you, your majesty?’ the priest asked smoothly.

‘Unless you plan to ask Aroaril to visit a plague upon Duke Gello, I think I can find my way to a pew safely,’ the Queen said crisply.

‘As your majesty wishes.’ Prent bowed his head and walked away.

Martil watched both the Queen, and then Prent until he disappeared into his office. Her every movement was imbued with purpose and he could not take his eyes off her. He needed to make a good impression on her. He had to attract her attention in a dignified, professional way. He was trying to think what he could do when Karia jumped onto a pew and waved furiously.

The Queen saw them instantly and hurried over, trailing ladies-in-waiting.

‘The warrior and the little girl. But where is Barrett?’ she asked urgently.

Martil had been trying to think of something intelligent to say, but his tongue would not obey him. Rather than stand there like a fool, he stepped across the aisle and knocked on the door of the prayer room. Instantly Barrett stepped out. The Queen gave a soft cry of delight and Martil was disturbed to see an expression of rapt adoration on Barrett’s face.

‘You did it then!’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes, your majesty. As I promised I would.’

Martil decided to step in then. ‘Explanations must wait. We need to hurry.’

‘Of course,’ the Queen agreed. ‘Barrett, what is your plan?’

Martil had no intention of letting Barrett take the credit. ‘We have hired a lady of the night to replace you. You will need to swap clothes. Your ladies-in-waiting will take her back to the palace, where she will change again, then leave, dressed as a servant
girl. Meanwhile, we will have slipped out of the city, using magic.’

‘A simple plan. Good—those are usually the best. Gello’s men will suspect nothing. They think nobody is prepared to help me. The whore—is it Lahra?’ the Queen asked.

‘Y—your majesty!’ Barrett gasped.

‘Calm down, Barrett. I’m not going to let something like that concern me. We have much bigger problems.’

Barrett stepped aside, allowing Conal to guide a bleary-looking Rabbag into the main body of the church. The Queen looked at her critically.

‘There is some likeness, but really, their brains must be elsewhere,’ she commented.

Martil and Barrett exchanged a quick look, although Martil’s attention was almost instantly diverted by the sight of the Queen starting to unbutton her cloak. She shrugged off the long hooded garment to reveal she was wearing a leather jerkin over a green tunic top and trousers. The trousers were reinforced on the inside with leather, making them ideal for riding, and she was also wearing sensible leather boots. ‘I can pick up formal dresses from a hundred homes,’ she smiled.

There was silence from both Martil and Barrett. The Queen’s clothes were eminently practical but were, of necessity, also figure-hugging.

‘What is going on here?’ Father Prent stared at the strange party in his church. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

Martil’s hand almost reached for his sword, then he realised who he was dealing with. But the Queen was faster.

‘Father, we are taking direct action to save this
country. If you feel unable to help us, as you have said before, then perhaps you should go back into your office and pray,’ she said.

Prent looked at the Queen’s outfit, then to Rabbag, and comprehension dawned on his face. ‘You are seeking to escape and take back the throne. This will mean civil war. You cannot do this!’ he gasped.

‘You think you can forbid me?’ The Queen’s voice was cold enough to freeze most men but Prent just continued on.

‘It is your duty to submit! Women were not meant to rule! It is an offence against Aroaril and the dragons—and it was Aroaril’s judgement that saw the Dragon Sword stolen and the Duke ascend to the throne. To defy His decision will doom us all! I demand you surrender the traitors with you and beg forgiveness! Duke Gello must rule Norstalos!’

‘We have the Dragon Sword,’ Barrett declared. ‘That proves your words false!’

‘Enough!’ The Queen’s voice ended the debate. ‘Father, if I thought for one heartbeat that stepping aside for Duke Gello would bring peace to this country then I would do so. But he will be this country’s worst nightmare. I was not the one who started this but, by Aroaril, I shall finish it.’ She turned away, dismissing Prent. ‘Now let us hurry! Get the whore ready!’

‘A whore? In here?’ Prent gasped.

‘Father, another word from you and I shall have this warrior remove your tongue!’ the Queen snapped.

Martil half-drew his sword, to emphasise her words.

With a combination of outrage and fear on his face, Prent sank into a pew.

‘Come on. The guards will be expecting us to take some time but they will be alerted if we have any more loud arguments.’ The Queen waved to her ladies-in-waiting, who immediately started buttoning Rabbag into the hooded cloak.

‘’Ere! What’s going on?’ Rabbag protested.

‘Silence, woman! Do not speak again!’ the Queen said and Rabbag, cowed, fell quiet.

As soon as the ladies had Rabbag dressed, they opened their own cloaks and produced small leather backpacks that they handed to Conal.

‘Gold and gems. Enough to finance a war,’ one explained, at which point Conal’s eyes lit up.

‘Good luck, your majesty,’ another said, then stepped forward to embrace the Queen, who waved them away.

‘There is no time for this, Rana,’ she said irritably.

‘Are you sure of this course of action, your majesty?’ Rana asked tremulously.

‘I am, Rana. I trust Barrett. And if there is a chance to take back my throne, I will not let it slip away. I will not let Gello defeat me!’

‘Barrett I know. But what of the warrior? Can he be trusted?’

Barrett turned to Martil. ‘Show them,’ he urged.

So Martil drew the Dragon Sword and willed it to become its own form. Instantly it seemed to catch what little light there was in the church, and lift the gloom. Martil was watching the Queen, and was delighted to see her face transform, worry lines smoothing away and a smile that could only be considered beautiful light her face. For a long moment, everyone stared at the Sword, and out of the corner of his eye, Martil saw the priest’s jaw drop. But he was more interested in the Queen’s reaction.

‘I have a Champion at last!’ she exulted.

‘I am yours to command,’ Martil said, without really thinking about it. Then he realised what he had said and sheathed the Dragon Sword, turning it back into an old-looking sword, before he did anything else stupid. That seemed to wake everyone up.

‘We must hurry,’ the Queen said briskly. ‘You must get the whore back to the palace before anything is suspected.’

‘’Ere! I can play a lady!’ Rabbag declared.

‘And she must not talk, under any circumstances,’ the Queen continued.

Martil produced two gold pieces and handed them to Rana.

‘That’s her payment. See that she gets it,’ he instructed. ‘But not until she’s back at the palace.’

‘Good luck, Rana.’ The Queen waved the ladies away. Martil could see a couple of them were almost in tears.

‘Go with Aroaril, your majesty. Let us hope we can welcome you back into your city in triumph soon.’

Rana then had the ladies form up around Rabbag, so her walk, which was designed to show off her assets, could be more easily disguised.

‘Go!’ Barrett urged them.

‘We should get out of sight. In here, perhaps.’ Martil gestured to the prayer room they had been using, and they hurried inside, Conal herding Father Prent with them, as Rana gave one last wave and then opened the church doors.

‘We just have to wait until we hear them go, then it’s back to my house and out of the city,’ Barrett said quickly.

Prent started to rise, until Conal showed him the business end of a knife and the priest subsided weakly onto a seat.

The Queen listened for a moment for sounds that Rabbag had been discovered, then smiled. ‘There is so much I want to know! How did you find the Sword—and how did you find a Champion? You are not Norstaline…your voice tells me you must be Ralloran?’

‘That’s right, your majesty,’ Martil agreed.

‘And the man with one hand. Are you Tetran or Norstaline? I can hear both accents in your voice.’

‘Once of Norstalos, late of Tetril, now just following Captain Martil,’ Conal grinned.

The Queen looked back at Martil. ‘Captain Martil? A Ralloran? Not the Captain Martil, the Butcher of Bellic?’ The smile on her face died and she stared at him coldly.

Martil felt as though he had taken another blow to the stomach, only this one was truly painful.