Radiant Child Page 5

  ‘I see you’ve got everything in hand here, sergeant!’

  Kesbury turned to see an amused Dunner. A score of grinning Rallorans had ridden in close and were now watching him.

  ‘Sergeant no more, my friend,’ Kesbury stated. ‘What news?’

  ‘You still sound like a sergeant.’ Dunner smiled. ‘The Berellians are stirring. The attack will come soon. We rode to give the village a final warning, found it empty and followed your tracks.’

  Kesbury nodded grimly. ‘Did you see that ex-priest still there?’

  ‘Chanlon? No, I’m sure he would have taken the opportunity to scream at us if he had seen us.’ Dunner shrugged.

  Kesbury wondered where Chanlon had gone, for the man had not overtaken them on the road, then put it aside.

  ‘Are you going to give us an escort north?’ he asked.

  Dunner’s face lost its smile.

  ‘We don’t have the men. We’ll be outnumbered eight to one as it is,’ he said sadly.

  ‘Then give me ten men. They won’t make any difference to you but could make all the difference to us!’

  Dunner hesitated, glancing up and down the column. Men, women and children stared back at him mutely. He sighed.

  ‘I cannot order men to do this. You know why,’ he said softly, then turned to his Rallorans.

  ‘Volunteers to stay and fight with Sergeant Kesbury!’ he called.

  ‘I’m not a sergeant…’ Kesbury began but then saw every man urge their horse forwards.

  Dunner looked at Kesbury. ‘We’ve all heard too many sagas,’ he muttered, then pointed to the men behind him. ‘Two squad, you’re now under Sergeant—I mean Father Kesbury’s—orders.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ Kesbury said softly. ‘Aroaril be with you.’

  They clasped hands.

  ‘Say a prayer for us all,’ Dunner said, then waved to his remaining men. ‘We ride!’

  Merren smiled as she looked out the window, seeing the crowd gathered around Argurium. This was a tale that would spread across the land!

  ‘Your majesty, if we can continue?’ Conal interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Of course.’ Merren turned back. She had outlined what had happened in the north, now she needed to know what was happening in Norstalos.

  ‘We have people moving on every road—we managed to get them out by taking as much food as we could and bringing it north. Much of it is here in the capital, waiting to be handed out to those from further south, who will have exhausted what they brought with them by the time they reach here. There are pockets that still remain, but we cannot do any more than we have already,’ Conal explained. ‘In the south, Captain Nerrin reports the Berellians are preparing to attack. In the east, Kay says Gello is still in camp and making no move towards the border. In the west, Rocus warns the Tenoch fleet has been seen off the coast, but is still three days from landfall. I don’t know the reason for their delay but it is a gift from Aroaril. It will save many lives.’

  ‘It was a storm created by Barrett,’ Merren said. ‘But you have done wonderfully well. If you had been unable to get the people heading north, I dread to think what would have happened! Now we can not only get them to safety, but protect them once they are there.’

  Conal looked down at the table. ‘It has been hard, your majesty…’

  Merren stood and walked around to where the ex-bandit was slumped in his seat.

  ‘Conal, you have done the impossible. You have my gratitude. All of you! What you have done is amazing. I am sorry you had to do that for me, but it was done in my name. It is my responsibility, not yours. Any blame is mine, any thanks is yours.’

  ‘I cannot accept all your thanks. Louise and Gia helped me greatly. They were the ones who made the hardest decisions…’ Conal shook his head.

  ‘We know what it is like to make a sacrifice for the good of the country,’ Louise said, trying to smile.

  ‘Well, those people should sing your praises when they are safe.’

  ‘They are not safe yet. Most have many miles to travel,’ Sendric warned. ‘It would not take much to see at least half the country unable to escape, and at the mercy of the Berellians and Tenochs.’

  ‘Which reminds me. Why are there still so many people in the capital? I thought it would be almost empty by now,’ Merren asked carefully.

  Conal, embarrassed, looked to Sendric.

  ‘What is going on?’ Merren demanded.

  ‘I thought it was advisable to have a decent crowd here to witness the royal wedding,’ Sendric said stiffly. ‘After all, you said you wanted it to take place as soon as you returned. I held back many of the capital’s residents so word of the wedding could spread far and wide.’

  There was a sudden silence around the table. Martil tried not to look at Merren but, under the table, he grasped Karia’s hand tight.

  Merren took a deep breath. ‘We need to tell them to leave. Now. Their escape is more important.’

  ‘But…’ Sendric began.

  ‘There will be no wedding until all are safe behind the passes. It would be the height of arrogance to waste time and money on such a thing when there are lives at risk,’ Merren said briskly.

  ‘But—’

  ‘I have decided—and that will be the end of it!’ Merren snapped. ‘Besides, I shall be too busy. Apart from all the reports flooding in here, I shall take Argurium and visit the people, as many as possible, to encourage them.’

  Martil found himself smiling, a little. His heart had leaped when she declared the wedding was postponed. It was not cancelled—but every day when it did not happen was a good one.

  ‘Next, we need to think about feeding and housing the people once they are in the north.’ Merren sighed.

  ‘We already have men up there, putting up crude shelters, just basic huts, as quickly as they can. As more people arrive, they can help,’ Louise reported.

  ‘Then what is next?’

  ‘Waiting for an attack. We need to slow them down, but also preserve enough men to form the basis of an army that will defeat them in the spring,’ Martil answered. ‘Once we have withdrawn behind the passes, our soldiers can begin training every man who can lift a spear or swing a sword.’

  ‘Well done, everyone! When Barrett returns from the north I shall have more tasks for him but, for now, I want you all to rest while I go over those reports in detail. I shall leave orders before I take Martil and Karia with me on Argurium to visit the south.’

  Martil was sure that had not been part of Argurium’s deal, but it would certainly help Merren win over the people.

  The meeting broke up then, but Sendric lingered behind. He had sat in silence since being rebuffed by Merren.

  ‘Your majesty, I must protest,’ he said indignantly. ‘Putting the wedding off—the timing, your majesty! We must be married a decent time before the baby arrives. I think not of myself but of the reputation of Norstalos!’

  ‘Sendric, we are talking about a few weeks, at most,’ Merren waved him away. ‘It is not important. Not compared to saving the people.’

  ‘It is important to the country,’ Sendric growled. ‘And what about Martil? What if he were to find out?’ He looked at her suddenly-white face and gasped in horror. ‘He knows! He has found out!’

  ‘No!’ Merren tried to protest but Sendric would not listen to her denials.

  ‘This is exactly what I feared,’ he said furiously.

  ‘Keep your voice down, for Aroaril’s sake,’ she barked. ‘It changes nothing.’

  She swept past him, leaving the old noble fuming. Could she not see the future of the Norstaline Royal House depended on this?

  Martil had been reminded by Cezar that he was out of shape. So he worked with Jaret and Wilsen, sparring with one, then both of them, using heavy wooden practice swords until the sweat was pouring off all three of them, and the muscles in his back, arms and shoulders were protesting furiously.

  He had left the two Royal Guardsmen to go and wash before he w
ent to see Karia again. She would be with the dragon, who was proving a perfect child-sitter, although Havell was not too impressed. Apparently the Elfarans had been without women and children for centuries. And the first one he had to experience was Karia, Martil thought to himself with a smile.

  He was towelling himself dry in his room when Sendric walked in.

  ‘Count! What is it?’ Martil wrapped the towel around his waist.

  ‘I need to talk to you about Merren,’ Sendric said sharply, standing stiffly by the door.

  ‘Merren? Is she all right?’ Martil found himself reaching for the Dragon Sword before his trews.

  ‘She is not in danger, if that is what you mean,’ Sendric said. ‘But I must speak to you about this despicable situation you have put us all in.’

  Martil took a few moments to realise what the noble was getting at, then he had to control his temper.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  Sendric stared at him. ‘You don’t have a choice,’ he snarled.

  Since Merren had ordered him to marry her, this had been eating him up inside. How could she have done this with a Ralloran, of all people? He had been a good friend of her father, King Croft, had seen Merren grow from a small girl into a queen-to-be. Everything about her education, her training, had been about the importance of propriety, the necessity of putting the country before herself. Personal feelings were not important. How could she have thrown all that away to be with this brute? He was useful, certainly, but then so were the servants. And as if one of noble blood could marry a servant!

  He had come to accept the need to marry Merren, to cover up this scandal that could end the Royal House—and the throne of Norstalos. Preserving the good name of the country was vital. The disgrace, the shame, if anyone ever found out the Crown Prince was a half-Ralloran bastard…he shuddered to think of it. And it would not just be here! The damned bards would sing of it in inns across the continent. He could just imagine the sport the Rallorans and Avish would have with this. No-one must find out the truth. But it had to be done quickly. Even commoners could count!

  Then, just as he had steeled himself to do this for the good of the country, the Queen had called a halt to it. Seemed actually to be thinking about declaring this oafish Ralloran her Prince Consort! That was too much for him. The man was no more than a sheep farmer’s son. The thought of someone like that on the throne of Norstalos was revolting. So the only thing was to appeal to the man’s decency.

  ‘What is it?’ Martil pulled on his trousers and slipped a fresh tunic over his head.

  ‘I order you to speak to Queen Merren, and insist that she marries me, as soon as possible,’ Sendric said firmly.

  ‘You order me?’ Martil asked.

  ‘Well, you obviously do not care about her, or the country, or you would have done this already. Therefore I must insist that you take action now.’

  Martil sat down on the bed and deliberately pulled on his boots, to give his hands something to do.

  ‘And what makes you think Merren will listen to me anyway? She won’t take orders from me, or from any other man,’ he made himself say.

  ‘You have some influence over her. That much is obvious. She went away sure of her duty, and ready to marry for the good of the country. Then she returns from the goblins and suddenly she has other things on her mind!’

  ‘Derthals,’ Martil interrupted.

  Sendric waved that away. ‘Call them what you want. I know what they are. Somehow you have persuaded her to forget her duty. Persuade her back.’

  Martil stared at him. Did the man not know what he was asking? He could not sleep, not eat, without thinking of Merren. He could no more do that than he could tell Karia to go away.

  Sendric ground his teeth. Well, if the brute would not listen to reason, perhaps an appeal to his baser nature was in order.

  ‘You know, controlling the gold trade for so many years has enriched my fief,’ he said casually. ‘There is quite a store of gold back in Sendric. Enough to keep you and Karia in comfort for the rest of your lives…’

  ‘Stop there, Count.’ Martil surged to his feet. ‘Do you think me some servant girl, able to be bought off when the master gets her pregnant?’

  Sendric snorted in indignation but managed to control his anger. Perhaps one last attempt…

  ‘Look, once we are married, perhaps there could be some sort of—arrangement. After all, Merren and I shall have separate bedrooms. If you both still feel the need, I’m sure we could organise something to allow…’

  ‘Get out!’ Martil picked up the Dragon Sword and buckled it around his waist, his eyes on Sendric the whole time.

  ‘This is your last chance! Believe me, you do not want me for an enemy, in a Norstalos at peace,’ Sendric said coldly.

  Martil stepped close to where the Count blocked the doorway. Sendric did not flinch away, but met Martil’s stare coldly. He had courage, Martil acknowledged, but that was no excuse for his behaviour.

  ‘My answer is no,’ Martil told him. ‘Believe me, you don’t want me for an enemy, at any time.’

  He went in search of Karia but had not been able to get outside the palace before a message came that Merren wanted to see him.

  He tried to tell himself it was probably nothing, just a discussion about tactics or similar, still, hope rose within him and he lengthened his stride. But Merren did not look like she had any good news for him when he stepped into her office.

  ‘I have just had Count Sendric in here, claiming that you threatened him,’ she said immediately.

  Caught off-guard, Martil was struck dumb for a moment before his outrage took over. ‘What?’ he spat. ‘The man tried to buy me off, offered me money to go away. That was after he asked me to persuade you to marry him!’

  Merren rubbed her eyes. ‘That is not what he says.’

  ‘Well, he is lying.’

  Merren sighed. She believed Martil over Sendric but the old noble was still a great help to her. ‘I cannot have my War Captain and the country’s last noble fighting…’

  ‘Well, that is easily solved. Tell him that you are not going to marry him,’ Martil said hotly.

  ‘The one thing I cannot do—and we have been through all this before,’ Merren said heatedly. ‘You are fighting with Sendric, cannot be left alone in a room with Barrett and we always seem to be arguing…’

  ‘Now that’s not true—’

  ‘You’re doing it again!’ she almost cried and he fell silent. ‘Look, I think we all need some space. The stress on us all has tempers short. While that’s understandable, I don’t have the time for it. I have decided that you shall fly south, with Argurium, and take command of the Rallorans, oversee our defences to the south—’

  ‘So I am being blamed for everything!’ Martil spat.

  Merren slapped her hands on the table. ‘I did not say that! And for Aroaril’s sake, stop interrupting me. I am not accusing anyone. I am saying you have given me a problem, so I must solve it. You shall fly down now. I shall bring Karia to visit in a day or two—and perhaps by then things will have calmed down.’

  Martil simmered in silence.

  She shook her head. ‘Say farewell to Karia and go. And don’t let me hear that you went looking for Sendric!’

  Martil saluted silently and marched out of her office, fuming. But he couldn’t say too much, for fear she would go back on her word and marry Sendric. At least he could take his anger out on the Berellians.

  Loft believed he was a prudent man. If he had obeyed the Rallorans and left his village by the border, he would be poor. But being dead was worse than being poor, so Loft had made sure his large store of coin was buried deep and that he had a fast horse always ready and supplies packed. If the Berellians did attack—and he firmly believed that would never happen—then he could be out of the village long before everyone else.

  With all eventualities prepared for, he could get back to what he did best—selling fo
od and drink and dismissing any suggestions that the village leave.

  Last night had been a particularly good one. Despite Loft’s best efforts to ridicule talk of a Berellian attack, there was fear among the people, and Loft had found fear was excellent for business. People came to his inn to talk to their friends, to find out what everyone thought—and to ask Loft his opinion on it all. Naturally all that talking worked up quite a thirst. Loft had been concerned to hear that many of the women in the village were talking about leaving. But that was only women’s talk. Elsewhere in the country there might be word about women being given the right to have a say, even to vote for the village council but, as far as Loft was concerned, that was ridiculous and he would have no part of it in his village.

  It had all added up to a profitable night, and he had both coin and bartered goods aplenty to show for it. The coin he would bury later, the goods he would either sell to the villagers, or organise a wagon to take it north to the town of Wells, on the River Brack, where he could sell it for even more money. But it had been a late night, so Loft decided to reward himself with a large breakfast of bacon and eggs. He had just started frying the bacon, the delicious aroma filling his kitchen, when the screaming began.

  He ignored it for as long as he could. After all, it was just women crying out. Probably someone’s idiot child had been trampled by a horse, or something just as foolish. But when it grew louder and was supplemented by the worried shouts of men, Loft left his bacon and walked outside.

  Men, women and children were running around in a panic, like chickens being chased by a fox.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Loft cried, grabbing the arm of one of his cronies, a stout farmer called Edgar.

  ‘Th-the Berellians!’ Edgar gabbled, tearing himself free and pointing.

  Loft swivelled, and saw a line of armoured horsemen sitting on the rise that overlooked the village’s southern side, leading to the Berellian border. At first glance their numbers alone were frightening but they were not moving and Loft was about to open his mouth and tell everyone they were fools, the Berellians meant them no harm—when he noticed half-a-dozen riders slightly closer than the rest. These all carried long spears, only they had strange, round shapes encasing the tip. Loft stared in bewilderment for a moment until he realised, with a shock that drove all thoughts of bacon out of his mind, that those were human heads atop the spears. He remembered, with sick dread, that some of his villagers had been planning to work in the southern fields, beyond the rise, that morning.