The Wounded Guardian (43 page)

‘Here you are!’ She offered the flowers to Merren. ‘Thanks for helping me.’

‘You have been reading well,’ Merren told her. She had been surprised by the child’s rapid progress. Her memory was phenomenal and her grasp of the concepts amazingly swift.

‘Thanks, but I don’t want him to think I’m so good that he doesn’t have to read to me any more,’ Karia explained in a loud whisper.

Martil could not help but laugh. ‘I’ll read to you for as long as you want,’ he offered.

‘I’d love that!’ Karia jumped up and gave him a hug.

Martil felt he should say something to Karia, let her know how he felt. But he just couldn’t say it. He saw Merren watching them with a smile on her face, and knew it was a perfect time. But the words would not come. He was still struggling with them when Wime came crashing through the woods.

‘Your majesty, Captain Martil, Count Sendric is back,’ he exclaimed.

Martil had a sinking feeling as they hurried back to Merren’s meeting cave to see Conal and Sendric. Previously Sendric had used birds to send his reports back to the caves. The fact he had returned in person could not be good news.

He was not mistaken.

‘The town is in an uproar. For the past few days, there’s been a steady stream of farmers coming to
town, telling everyone that Havrick’s men are burning farms, raping women, stealing livestock and killing anyone who stops them. Farmers are driving their stock into town to try and get away from the foraging parties. The town council fears there will be starvation this winter, as there will be too few farms left to support the district,’ Sendric announced.

‘We cannot allow this to continue,’ Merren declared, just as Martil had known she would. ‘Captain, what should we do?’

Martil sighed. This was what he had hoped for—but were his men ready for it? He would soon find out.

‘We need to recall Barrett, and Tarik’s archers. I need a clear picture of what they are doing, and where. Then we can decide what to do,’ he said carefully.

‘I can get Barrett!’ Karia said excitedly. ‘I’ll send a bird to him now!’

‘Thank you, Karia.’ Merren smiled at her, then the smile faded as she looked at Martil. ‘There is only one thing we can do. We must protect the farmers. And once they know we are fighting for them, they will join us. This could be what we have been waiting for.’

‘It will be risky. We could lose a score of men easily, or even be completely defeated,’ Martil warned.

Merren’s jaw tightened. ‘It is a risk we must take. I cannot take the throne if I do not protect the people. They must see we are different from Havrick and Gello.’

Martil nodded, already wondering if Barrett was going to ignore his pleas and betray him to Merren.

‘Your majesty, with your permission, Conal and I will travel back to Sendric and prepare the town.
Havrick has left but a single company of pikemen, and they do little more than eat, drink and patrol the gates and castle. The town is ready to revolt. We just need to make the arrangements,’ Sendric said gravely. ‘With Conal as my go-between, I promise you I can have the town ready when you need to retake it.’

Merren smiled. ‘Then go with Aroaril.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?’ Martil asked Conal.

The old bandit grinned. ‘I’d be as much use as a one-armed man at a hand-clapping contest. No, this way I get to eat at inns every night and sleep in the best fleapits Sendric has to offer. And I feel I’m doing something to help. The Count is a good man with the priests and the town council but he doesn’t know how to talk to gutter scum the way I do.’

Sendric and Conal only stayed long enough to take a bag of gold to help encourage some of the waverers, and had left before Barrett and Tarik arrived back. The wizard looked tired, his clothes stained, and he wolfed into the stew the guardsmen had prepared. Tarik and his archers also looked tired, but nowhere near as bad.

‘We came as soon as we received your message. What news, your majesty?’ he asked, in between mouthfuls of bread.

‘First, what have you been achieving?’ Martil asked.

‘We’ve killed, I reckon, a score of men over the past few days, and wounded just as many. Used up plenty of arrows, but luckily we got that wagonload from Havrick,’ Tarik reported.

‘The wizards have done nothing. At first they were confused when they couldn’t get any animals to
respond to them—now I get the feeling they are not even trying,’ Barrett said through a mouthful of food.

Merren nodded her approval.

‘You have done very well. But now we must change tactics. It seems Havrick has unleashed his foraging parties to rape, kill, steal and burn through the countryside. We must stop that.’

‘Indeed,’ Barrett agreed, with a quick look at Martil.

‘I need to know where he has already hit, and good targets and spots for an ambush,’ Martil said hastily.

‘When did you tell the Queen of this?’ Barrett asked. ‘I expected to be called back before now.’

The room went quiet and Martil wished Sendric and Conal had stayed just a little longer, so Barrett had heard it from them, rather than jumping to the wrong conclusion. Or perhaps it was the right conclusion. He would not put it past the wizard to make him look bad.

‘What do you mean? Martil, did you know about this earlier and not say anything?’ Merren asked coldly.

Martil faced her.

‘I suspected he might try something like this, no more. The first farms we helped, the cavalry were getting ready to have some fun there. It might have been a one-off—after our ambush, they could have been under orders to just take food. But either way, we were not ready to go out and face them. More importantly, we needed some time. Time to convince Havrick he was searching in the right place, time to ready the countryside and town, so they would be angry enough to help us.’

‘And you didn’t think to discuss this with me?’ she said, her voice dangerously quiet.

‘Your majesty, I am sorry. As War Captain, I felt I was taking the right approach.’ Martil knew that offering excuses would only make him look incompetent, or conniving.

Merren’s face had whitened as he spoke but her eyes were burning.

‘Barrett, will you be ready to march tomorrow?’

‘I will, your majesty,’ the wizard agreed.

‘Officers, tell your men to prepare themselves. You will be going out tomorrow to protect the farmers. Now, please leave War Captain Martil and myself.’

The rest of the council silently shuffled out, Barrett taking Karia under the pretence of showing her some more magic.

She waited until the others were clear of the chamber before rounding on him.

‘Don’t do that again,’ she spat at him.

‘Yes, your majesty.’ Martil had been screamed at by a king before; he knew the best approach was to say as little as possible.

‘I thought you were different,’ she snapped, her voice rising now as the others became further away. ‘I thought I could trust you. I thought you had taken an oath to help me.’

‘You can trust me, your majesty,’ he declared.

‘You thought I would destroy our cause to save a few farmers, so you decided to hide vital facts from me, to protect me from myself. Correct?’ Her voice lashed at him like a whip.

‘Yes, your majesty.’ Martil held his head high.

‘Just like Gello and the others. Thinking that a woman cannot make tough decisions. If you trusted
me, you would have told me what was going on, and then made the argument that we could not ride out now to save them.’ She stood and began pacing around the table. ‘Can I trust you? Because that is far more important than you being the Dragon Sword wielder. I will not take the throne to be some sort of figurehead, with you and Barrett making decisions behind my back. I am the ruler of this country and will bear responsibility for anything that happens—as long as I made the decision. So, will you agree to tell me everything, or will you go? The choice is yours.’

Martil discovered he was horrified at the thought of leaving. He did not know how it had happened. At first he had come along because of Karia’s suggestion, then because Barrett had warned him he had to; he had rescued the Queen and made an oath to her because he was attracted to her and thought it was the best way to impress her. Up until this point he had just been reacting to events; he had never done anything for her because he really wanted to, he realised, but because other people wanted him to and both they and that damned Sword expected it of him. But now he realised he wanted to see her become Queen once more. His last misgivings melted away. Whether he had been pushed to this point or not, from hereon he would do whatever it took to help her now. If she would let him.

‘Your majesty, I swear on Karia’s life that this will not happen again,’ he said thickly, dropping to one knee.

She walked around the table and looked down on him. He saw from her face that she knew how important that oath was to him.

‘I am the Queen. And I will do anything to free my country. I understand what that may cost. As it
happens, Havrick has given us the chance to take this tiny rebellion to the next level. As we have talked about before, the people have become complacent. They needed something to shock them and get them ready to join our fight. Thanks to our delay, they have had it. But I shall make these decisions. I know you served King Tolbert of Rallora, who was happy to let you and other war captains destroy Bellic, so he could pretend the blood was not on his hands. But I am not one of those kings. I am a queen who will take full responsibility for the actions of my followers. Do not fail me again.’

Martil looked up at her with new eyes. He had been looking at her as a woman first, a queen second. There was no doubt she was truly a queen. But he did not want to think too much now. He knew that was his problem, a tendency to obsess over everything. It was why he found the simplicity of battle almost comforting.

‘May Aroaril take my life before I fail you again, your majesty,’ he declared.

She smiled then.

‘Let’s hope it never comes to that. Now get up, and stop calling me “your majesty”. It sounds strange coming from you.’

Martil led the men towards the ambush site carefully. They had left early the next morning, waved goodbye by the wives and families. The families seemed happy enough; after so many ambushes carried out successfully, and no men dead, they saw little to worry about any more. He did not want to mention that he expected to return with several dead this time.

The men were heavily laden. All but the archers wore hauberks, carried shield, sword, helm, a long spear and two days’ rations. The archers wore the leather jackets and carried eight sheaves of arrows apiece, one hundred and sixty per man.

Never had Barrett been more useful. Not only did he find a perfect ambush site but he also held open a gateway long enough for men to file through, allowing them to cut miles off their journey. The site was everything he had boasted it would be. The road ran beside a stream, which was not particularly wide or deep but was littered with rocks that would make it impossible for horses to cross unless they were carefully led. A gentle slope led up towards some sparse woodland. Over the years, rain, heavy wagons and livestock had steadily eroded the side of the slope closest to the road until, instead of a gentle rise, there was a jump greater than the height of a man from the now-widened road to where the slope continued up. The process had been helped by some well-meaning people, who had placed large boulders on the side of the road to stabilise the slope and prevent landslides from closing it. This had the effect of making it impossible for horsemen to scramble off the road.

With Tarik and two men on watch, there was nothing to do but wait, talk to Barrett about ways to stop charging cavalry, watch the wizard eat prodigiously and worry.

‘Captain! Wagons approaching, escorted by a squadron of cavalry!’ Tarik and his men ran up, scarcely out of breath, to make their report.

‘Form up! To your places! Archers to the high ground!’ he roared.

Tarik and his lightly-armoured men scrambled up the rocks at the side of the road. From here, they
could rake the cavalry attack without worrying that they would hit any of their own men.

Martil took his place in the middle of the third row, standing with the farm boys, where he could see what was happening in the battle. Sirron and the others all looked white in the face, and he could feel the tension in the ranks, not just among the farmers but in the militia and guardsmen as well. A swift fight in the woods against an outnumbered and bewildered enemy was one thing; standing in a line, expecting a cavalry charge, was something else.

And all could hear now the noise of the wagons and many horses approaching.

Many glanced around nervously. Some looked white with fear.

‘Wait for my signal! And don’t worry. They’re more scared of you than you are of them!’ Martil shouted.

‘They must be bloody terrified then,’ Sirron called.

Martil did not know why, but being close to death seemed to make everything seem funnier. The comment would have been lucky to raise a smile back at camp, but here men burst into laughter and he felt the tension ease.

The cavalry trotted around the bend and actually kept riding for what seemed like an age before noticing the band of men tightly clustered on the trail before them. Martil let them stop and stare for a few heartbeats longer before signalling to Tarik.

The cavalry officer was just beginning to organise his men when the first arrows started dropping and the men and horses started falling.

‘Will they run, sir?’ Sirron asked.

‘No. They’re cavalry. They’re not smart enough to run. Besides, they know they’ll all be flogged if we
get the wagons,’ he smiled, then bellowed, ‘Spears!’ The men formed up reasonably well, not as smoothly as Martil would have liked, but they were soon presenting a wall of shields, bristling with long spears that would deter any horse.

It was just in time. The cavalry officer, stung by the arrow assault, had ordered an immediate charge. Troopers spurred their horses into a gallop, the swifter ones drawing clear, some having the sense to draw close to other troopers, so they would arrive together. A man on his own facing a shield wall was a dead man riding. But a group of men, all striking home at the same time, could break the wall, especially if the men behind it were not well trained. It may have been a badly-formed charge but it was still fearsome. Martil glanced up to where Tarik and his men were on their feet, loosing shafts as fast as they could. Men and horses were going down but because the charge was so ragged, the men behind were able to jump over bodies or swerve around injured horses. Many of the horses had one or more arrow shafts sticking out of them now, but the big cavalry horses would soak up several arrows before falling.