The Forgotten War (114 page)

‘Yes it is, but I beg you to think why I am letting them live. The survivors go to the western town on the river spreading tales of our ferocity in battle. They also all have to be fed and
these wagons now go to Morgan’s city in the north so he can feed his people.’

‘After we have taken all we need. And their weapons of iron, too.’

They rode on a little further, Culleneron spoke again, a little tentatively.

‘This human, this Morgan.’

She half turned her head. ‘What of him?’

‘I have heard it said that you and he...’

She stopped her horse and gave him an arch look.

‘Choose your next words very carefully, Culleneron.
Very
carefully.’

He seemed placated. ‘It was just a rumour, as I thought.’

‘And a foolish one! Our people should be above such idle gossip; we should leave such idiotic fancies to the humans.’

‘Such a thing will never happen; an inactive mind will always cast around for amusement.’

She smiled. ‘That almost sounds like a statement of wisdom. I thought you barely capable of such a thing.’

Now it was his vexation that was obvious. ‘You have a very supercilious attitude, Itheya. I know you look down on me, I wonder whether your contempt is borne out of a genuine disdain of my
abilities or because it has long been mooted that we are to wed at some time in the future.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. From behind her came the cries of wounded men, the enemy soldiers were being crippled as she had requested.

‘I will be honest with you. I am not desirous of marriage to anyone and I fear that will always be the case. If we are to ever wed, it will be because a closer union is needed between our
tribes and for no other reason. I admit I have had a low opinion of you in the past but, since we journeyed through the pass, your bravery and leadership have impressed me, if sometimes your
planning and tactical thinking have been a little wanting. My supercilious attitude is borne of my breeding, nothing more, and if you have taken it as aloofness on my part then I can only
apologise. I am as Zhun made me, as are you.’

‘Thank you for your candour,’ Culleneron said stiffly. ‘Maybe we should search for alternative spouses, after all. Father will be disappointed; he has long hoped for such a
match.’

‘Come what may, it is not a matter for discussion now. We need to see the knight Reynard. He is close by and needs to take these wagons north. It is not for us to do such a thing; our job
is to harass the enemy at every turn, not to cart around sacks of meal.’

‘So you say. Our job is for us to define, no one else. If we wish to spend the winter in the woods hunting boar, then we shall do so. You must not let your loyalty to this Morgan cloud
your judgement as to our part in this affair. We will fight only as long as we get the weapons and artefacts we were promised. If we see nothing of either by the spring, then questions will need to
be asked.’

‘They will,’ she said haughtily. ‘Yet again, you are calling my loyalties into question. I will ask you not to do it again; it is getting tiresome. I could equally fulminate
endlessly about the questionable commitment of the Ometahan to this enterprise but have chosen not to do so.’

‘That is because our commitment has been as full as yours.’

‘Maybe,’ she said with a smile. ‘You have me there.’

‘A rare victory indeed against such an august intellect.’

‘Now who is being supercilious?’ She purposely stuck her nose in the air.

‘I am sorry. Let us speak of other things.’

‘Such as?’

‘Why your loremaster and his assistant had to leave us and travel to the south. Why we are now without a skilled healer. We have five people wounded after tonight...’

‘There is enough power in us to deal with that. Terath’s purpose here is not ours. He goes to deal with another danger, one written of in our history, one only he has full knowledge
of. I am sure you never question the motives and purposes of your own loremaster.’

‘I would not dare.’ Culleneron smiled for the first time. ‘She is testy beyond belief; not even my father would willingly cross her.’

‘I spoke to her once,’ said Itheya playfully. ‘I think her skin exudes acid, like a lemon, only a little sourer.’

‘I will be sure to tell her when I see her.’

‘In that case there will never be a marriage between us.’ She kicked her white charger and galloped off into the night, leaving him stranded, though smiling stupidly at her
remarks.

By the morning there was a light fog clinging to the dells and copses of the country around them. Nearly five hundred elves sat impassively atop their steeds, watching the defeated humans trudge
wearily towards Tetha Vinoyen. The wagon they had been allotted was full to bursting with the wounded and the civilian children, so much so that the elves had allowed them an extra couple of horses
to pull it safely. Reynard had arrived an hour before and had just departed with the supplies and horses bound for Felmere in the north. Itheya continued to watch as the humans became smaller and
smaller in the distance. Then, along with all the other elves, she turned her horse away from the cart track and rode slowly away northwards until she was completely enveloped in the fog. Only the
dead remained there now and, in the near distance, the wolves started to howl.

Quite how these strange, brutal people could sleep so easily shut away from the sky, the stars and the night air was completely beyond Cygan’s comprehension.

They had travelled to an even larger city, smelling of dung, sweat and desperation; again, it was the grandest building there that was to house him. He had been given a room, doubtlessly
luxurious to these people, but hopelessly claustrophobic to him. He ended up rigging a makeshift hammock using a beam, a bedpost and a sheet; it was a long way short of perfect or even comfortable,
but it felt a little like home and that was a good thing.

In the town they had left, the death of its baron had caused a brief riot amongst the local soldiers. It was put down quickly with only a handful of lives lost but the uprising had masked the
death of the jailor and the escape of the prisoners, who had been blamed for his murder. Esric declared the matter closed whilst all the time giving Cygan a sideways look. He knew, and Cygan knew
that he knew, but this Esric was a pragmatic man it seemed, and was more than happy to let the situation drop. He was not going to hang the Marsh Man after just effecting his rescue. He needed him;
they needed each other.

Esric had also permitted him to wander freely through the city if he wished, but so far he had not taken up the invitation. His manner, his dress, his ritual scars all marked him as an outsider
and he had no wish to be gawped at and gossiped about by the locals. Having said that, though, he was no longer the strangest creature residing under this particular roof.

Just yesterday they had arrived. Creatures out of the most ancient of tales just like the Malaac. The locals called them Wyches, or elves, close enough to his own word for them, the Elevaa. Once
this land was theirs, so it was said, but that was long ago. These were the first people of their type to arrive here in hundreds of years and their manner, their strange eyes and ears had
disconcerted everyone at first, but the elder of the two had proven open and disarming enough to allay any initial reservations. They had arrived late and had spoken briefly to everyone, though
they were most interested in Cygan and the news from the Endless Marshes. Esric had called for a full council to be held on the morrow to discuss further action.

On the day of the council Cygan awoke on hearing the birds of the dawn. Sliding out of the hammock, he underwent a brief inventory of his aches and pains. Since his beating at
the hands of the jailor and his lackeys there were things about him that weren’t quite right. His left leg always felt a little stiff and he had detected the slightest of limps when he
walked. The other thing had been the headaches; they came infrequently and had never lasted long but had always been powerful and quite debilitating. He had taken a few blows to the head that day
and guessed it would take some time before he recovered fully. If he did not recover, well, he didn’t want to think about that, not right now, maybe never.

With no lake to bathe in, he used the bowl provided to wash himself, then he dressed and headed for the main hall. Hopefully he could at last do something to help his own people and change
whatever fate the darkest Gods wished upon them.

At first, it was just himself and Esric in the hall; he had forgotten the earliness of the hour. Gradually, though, people started to drift into the room. The servants busied themselves ferrying
plates of food to those assembled. (The concept of one man’s subservience to another, the fact that their worth was deemed to be less than that of their overlords, was something Cygan found
distasteful, a waste of the potential of so many.) Once this light breakfast had been taken Esric started to speak.

‘The last few weeks have been chastening for us all. Coming so soon after our own gains here, the news of the armies defeat in the north, the death of Baron Felmere and the emergence of
the conspiracy against us, has been the bitterest elixir to swallow. And now it seems that these are not our only problems, as we are about to hear. Spalforth, do you wish to start?’

A young man with a thick dark moustache clad in an expensive green surcoat filigreed with gold leaned forward to speak.

‘Most of you would have been expecting my father. He, as I will tell you, is unable to attend, nor do I know when you will all see him next. I have ridden hard here from our lands in the
east where we border the domain of the traitor Garal. After the events of Wolf Plain it took him no time at all to declare against us, raiding and burning some outlying villages. My father
determined to act unilaterally and crush his rebellion before it could take root and establish itself. To that end we led our forces, some three hundred men, against his as soon as they could be
fully mustered.

‘We met where our lands border one another east of the Broken River, on a marshy patch of land studded with small ponds and patches of quicksand. The river is like that, sluggish, almost
ceasing to flow at some points, and it attracts fogs like a dung heap attracts flies. In such conditions the battle was little more than a series of skirmishes as small groups tried to goad their
opponents into charging on treacherous ground, easy meat for the archers. Things were going nowhere and we were about to withdraw when Garal himself led a band of cavalry against our flank. We
responded in kind and drove them off. Both forces then withdrew with minimal losses.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘Minimal I say! My father took such a blow to the head that he now recognises nobody and has to be fed by a nurse, who keeps having to dab his chin to mop up the
drool.’

There was a brief silence as this news sank in.

‘Can he speak?’ asked Esric.

‘No,’ said his son. ‘He even needs wiping after using a chamber pot.’

‘Then I had better pronounce you the new Baron Protector of Spalforth. I am sorry it has been in such circumstances.’

‘Thank you, Esric. But that is not all. We have heard that Arshumans are on the way to reinforce Garal, maybe a thousand of them. It is a force we cannot stand against unaided.’

‘You will not have to,’ said Esric. ‘We march against them as soon as we possibly can. Who is commanding your forces at Spalforth now?’

‘My little brother. He has more than enough on his hands until I return and I don’t just mean with Garal.’ He looked at Cygan, a steely glint in his eyes. ‘This fellow is
not the first Marsh Man I have seen of late. Scores of them have been pouring upriver and setting up camps on our southern borders. Ordinarily we would just drive them back into their own lands and
be done with it, but it is not an attempt to seize territory off us. Something is terrifying them; the barrier in language has been a problem but it seems the Marshes are being overrun with ...
monsters of some sort. They are superstitious folk, I know, but I have never heard them talk or behave like that before.’

‘You will hear more of this now. This Marsh Man is an ambassador for his people; he will now tell us of what he knows.’ Esric indicated for Cygan to speak.

This was his chance and he did not disappoint. Cygan told of his own encounters with the Malaac then of his journey to the jagged hill and his encounter with the great serpent dragon. He left
nothing out; he even told them of Cerren’s sacrifice, although he knew they would be appalled by such a thing. He noticed the elderly elf, Terath, hung on his every word, his eyes not leaving
him for a second.

‘And, has already been seen, these creatures will not stop with the scattering and destruction of my people; they will continue up the rivers until they are stopped or until all these
lands finally fall to them. They are not creatures who recognise treaties or can be bought off with gold. Your wars up here will be rendered meaningless unless this menace can somehow be
defeated.’ Cygan stopped and took a draught of water. He noted that few people here drank it unless it was turned into an ale of some sort. They said the water here could make people ill, but
it was something his own people had never had a problem with.

Terath, who it appeared had been desperate to say his piece, then spoke. He introduced himself, explained his people’s reasons for allying themselves with Tanaren in this war and finally
came down to the artefacts and the inscriptions on the tooth.

‘Here, I believe, lies the answer,’ he said, holding the object aloft so all could see it. ‘This is an ancient treatise on dragons, their summoning, control and destruction,
written by those who were masters of the art. I have translated most of it, written as it is in a dialect lost for centuries. On this parchment I have the translation in my language and on this
one’ – he lifted up a sheet of yellowed paper – ‘I have written it in your language, to be kept by Master Cedric, once this affair is ended.’

‘You believe they can be fought?’ Cygan asked hopefully.