The Forgotten War (146 page)

Back in her peasant’s garb Cheris kept to her room, reading like she had never read before. The relevant passages of the book she scanned again and again until her head hurt. Then she
would shut it and softly repeat the strange words in her head until she was word perfect. She had to be. Otherwise, she would die like Anaya. And she didn’t want to die. Not at all.

She was lying flat out on the bed with her face down, reading and yawning, when there was a soft tap on her door.

‘Come in,’ she said absently, not bothering to see who it was. She heard quiet footsteps on the carpet and then came the last voice in the world she expected.

‘I see your stay on the mainland has not affected that trim little figure of yours. I have been told you look great in silk dresses, too. Perhaps I should ask you to try one on.’

She rolled off the bed, beaming with excitement. ‘Mikel! How long have you been here?’

‘A few hours maybe. The business in the south is over for now, so I have been allowed to travel a little. We went for days through enemy-occupied country apparently, but we saw nary a soul
so were never in any danger. Everyone is staying put for the winter, it seems, and with the snow outside I can hardly blame them.’

She saw the scar on his head. ‘You have been hurt!’

‘Nah!’ he said dismissively. ‘It was barely a scratch; it was good enough to keep me out of the last battle, though, so I was grateful for that. No, Cheris, only one of us has
been hurt here; I have heard what happened to you, you know.’

She looked downcast. ‘It seems the entire country is talking about my humiliation.’

‘No, I would not say that. And it is only humiliation if you bring it upon yourself, and no one thinks that either. I have heard a bard sing of you, but he was Calvannen’s minstrel
and probably going on rumours heard third-hand from a friend’s friend’s cousin twice removed.’

‘What was he singing?’

Mikel spoke awkwardly. ‘Well, if you must know it was called “The Tragic Tale of the Rape of the Storm Queen”. Or something like that.’

‘Seriously!’ she cried out in frustration. ‘It is a matter for song now? Elissa take me, but I hate this place at times.’

‘Do you wish to go home?’ Mikel asked gently.

‘No. Is the island my home anyway? I somehow doubt I would choose to live there if I could.’

‘That statement could apply to any of us,’ he replied. ‘Let me tell you that I have organised a room for you on the island. It is not far from mine, spacious and a lot more
comfortable than your novice’s cell. You will like it. When we get back I am going to recommend that you start teaching some of the younger novices; you have a good way with youngsters and it
will keep you busy. The last thing you want or need is to spend hours brooding in front of a book doing research.’

She could see he was trying to help her. ‘Thank you. You are right; research is for old men who hate sunlight. How is Elsa? Does she feed the cats?’

‘Religiously,’ he smiled. ‘You have lost that job, I fear.’

‘I have another one now.’ She sat back on the bed, letting him tower over her. ‘Did you seduce her?’

He put his hand on her shoulder and laughed. ‘Actually, no. She was a little too young and naive even for me. I did far better with one of Calvannen’s sisters, but keep it quiet or
there will be a scandal.’

She shook her head. ‘Incorrigible!’

‘Anyway, why the interest? I would have thought, after all you have been through, it would be the last thing on your mind.’

‘It is,’ she said sadly. ‘I cannot bear to be touched at the moment.’ Mikel removed his hand. ‘Oh, that is all right. I mean touched in other ways, like we used to
do. It is annoying that I see you for the first time in months and I do not want to jump on you; even my libido has been taken from me.’

‘Give it time, Cheris. It will return. You are strong and we will all help you if we can. Anyway, a romp in the bed is out of the question right now anyway.’

‘Why?’

‘He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. ‘Because two Knights of the Thorn are standing outside this very door.’

She shot up off the bed. ‘What! You are not serious.’ Straight away her thoughts went to the forbidden book hidden away under her pillow. She wondered what the punishment would be if
she was caught with it; obviously she would be sent back to the island immediately, but would she end up in the basement prison, a place of dread rumour but one where hardly any of the mages had
ever been? She decided immediately to keep its existence from Mikel, at least for now.

‘You know I am serious. We are not allowed to travel without them. They have been chafing to come here ever since they heard about you and the destruction of their northern chapter. It is
the law of this land, and of all countries who worship the Pantheon, that any mage outside of his college should be escorted at all times by at least two knights, partly to stop a mob from burning
him and partly in case he chooses to use his gift on them. You have been very lucky – the patronage of the Baron has kept you safe without them, but that cannot last for ever. I believe
questions are already being asked.’

She slumped back on to the bed. ‘Just as I was beginning to feel normal.’

‘I am sorry. Are you angry with me?’

‘No, I am pleased to see you. You are right, I suppose, I do have few friends here and I have surprised some suspicious looks on people’s faces at times. Mind you’ – she
stood and gave him a playful push – ‘you are always giving them the slip; you will have to teach me.’

‘I don’t know about that. You are a destroyer, not a beguiler – when it comes to magic, at least.’

She lowered her voice a little. ‘I am serious. There may come a time when I need to get past them for a while. Will you help me?’

He lowered his voice accordingly. ‘Of course, but why?’

‘All in good time. Also, I need mentoring with something. There is one illusion spell I need to master. I have looked in my book and think I have it, but I would like to see what you
think. You are the master with such things, not I.’

‘You are intriguing me? Why all this subterfuge? What are you trying to do?’

She sighed. ‘It is a long story and I am not up to its telling at the moment.’

‘The short version will do.’

‘Very well, I want to kill the man that raped me.’

‘I see. I do hear that revenge, once achieved, tends to leave one empty rather than fulfilled, but that is for you to find out not I. ’

At that moment there was a rap on the door. ‘Times up,’ Mikel said. ‘The knights will now be showing me to my room. Another two will be along shortly to ...
“introduce” themselves to you, I am afraid.’

She proffered him her cheek. ‘Give me a kiss.’

He gave her a peck then turned to go. ‘See you later,’ he said as the door opened and the burly frames of two knights blocked the exit.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we have much to discuss.’

The door closed and she busied herself with ordering herself and the room before the knights came. The loss of her short-lived personal freedom had come as a bigger blow than expected; if only
she had grasped the opportunity to take it while it existed because now she would never get the chance again.

With his breath coming out in steaming plumes, Morgan stood on the castle battlements and surveyed both the town beneath him and the plain and forest beyond. It was the
gloaming, and the waning light gave a luminosity to the snow-covered roofs and streets, almost as though they were generating their own thin, pale light that radiated directly from the ground
itself. With him stood Dominic, Syalin and another man swathed in weathered clothing, his face burnished by exposure to the elements. He was talking now, and Morgan, in his black scale armour with
the emblem of the mace painted in silver over his chest, was listening with his face carved from granite.

‘The land itself is quiet. The Wych folk are settled in their camp halfway between Grest and Tetha Vinoyen and nothing moves between those towns without them knowing about it. Something is
afoot, though – not in Grest which the Arshumans have locked down tight for the winter but in Tetha Vinoyen. They are planning something, that much I have seen myself.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Dominic.

‘Two things, they have been marching outside the gates of the town and drilling in the fields beyond. And then not three days ago I saw something else – siege engines. I saw them
practising with catapults, trebuchets, ballistae, you name it.’

‘Then they are coming here!’ said Morgan. ‘And in such numbers that they can both maintain a siege and keep the elves off. For some reason they are not worried about the Grand
Duke coming against them from the west.’

‘Ah, my Lord, I have heard from acquaintances over the river that the Grand Duke is not moving till spring. He has sent skirmishers out to test Fenchard’s men, but that is it. Also
in the last week a sizeable detachment of Fenchard’s troops moved south, maybe going to Haslan Falls, maybe to Fort Axmian. Fenchard’s banner went with them, so it is possible that he
is no longer in Tetha Vinoyen at all.’

‘Why is the Grand Duke sitting on his arse doing nothing?’ Dominic was annoyed. ‘He comes all this way with thousands of men and just stays there. Is he trying to bore Fenchard
into surrender?’

‘He has run into problems,’ said Morgan. ‘I have had other dispatches. Athkaril needed rebuilding, that you know, but he has had refugees to feed, thousands of them, and that
is not all. The Knights of the Thorn have heard that there has been an uprising close to Tanaren City itself; he has had to send troops back to crush it. I do not know how many he has left up
here.’

‘He could still make a difference.’ Dominic’s anger was controlled, but obvious. ‘Instead, while he twiddles his thumbs or plays footsie with another nobleman’s
wife, Trask is watching and laughing at him. Leontius knows nothing of war; I don’t know who his advisors are but they are either of a like mind or he is ignoring them. An attack on Tetha
Vinoyen now would be a devastating blow to Fenchard’s fortunes. Instead, all we get is lassitude.’

‘Well,’ said Morgan, rubbing his mailed gauntlets together against the cold, ‘there is nothing we can do about it now. Even if I could get a message to him, if he is ignoring
his advisors then he will certainly not listen to a jumped-up peasant like me.’ He turned to the scout. ‘The elves, the Wych folk, you know of their camp?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Rest here tonight, but tomorrow go to them. If you can make yourself understood, tell them of the situation. If troops leave the town and head here, tell them to harry them but not to
risk open conflict. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes, my Lord, I will try my best.’

‘Do it and there will be crowns in it for you.’ The man bowed and left the three of them. Dominic turned to Syalin.

‘You let that man approach the Baron wearing clothes that could have concealed any number of weapons and did nothing! Still trying to fulfil your contract?’

Syalin raised a contemptuous eyebrow. ‘I have only one contract, and that is to protect the Baron’s person. That man’s hands were in full view all the time. If he had tried to
draw a weapon, he would have been dead before it left the scabbard. Frankly, Sir Knight, I see you as a greater threat. I believe you are from a powerful family; the death of Baron Morgan could be
to your advantage if it gains you the city. Have a care, for I am watching you as keenly as anybody.’

Dominic was about to let fly with an angry retort, but Morgan raised his hands to pacify them both. ‘Enough – no bickering between allies here. It is on Trask that we should be
focusing our anger. He is coming, and the city must be prepared.’

With that he turned and started down the snow-covered steps leading to the courtyard and then the keep. Syalin followed and then Dominic, leaving behind the ghostly white landscape that, to
Morgan, looked more veiled and threatening than ever.

How could she have forgotten it was Nyannentele, the festival of sleeping winter? Itheya rode passed bare trees that had been hung with streamers of purest silver. The colours
of winter were silver, white and blue, and every building in her village would be festooned with these colours, just as these trees fringing the southern tip of the lake were. The highlight of the
festival would be in a couple of days’ time when the tribe, and members of their associated allied tribes, would take to the lake on boats, meeting at its centre, where each of the hundred or
more vessels would release up to half a dozen white doves to the sky – symbolic of both the falling of snow and the nascent emergence of spring. It was more than that, though, for the birds,
fattened and domesticated, would mostly provide food for hungry winter predators, giving them that meal that might just keep them from starvation. Only the toughest, cleverest or luckiest birds
would survive – exactly how Zhun would wish it.

Ever since emerging from the pass they had been watched and followed. Their trackers knew she would detect them immediately and so they made no attempt at full concealment, keeping as far away
among the trees, so as to make identification impossible, yet making both her and her escort fully aware that there was nothing they could do that would not be reported back to the relevant
interested parties.

Itheya picked a narrow, but worn and familiar, path that wound from the very edge of the lake, into the trees and back out again, always following the safest route; it would not be long now. She
could see the island, and her home sitting proudly on it; the colours of winter were displayed as she expected but there was one other there, flying from the building’s highest banner poles.
Red, the colour of the
thenestevan
berry, the berry of death, the berry that only grew in the Glade of the Mhezhen, where all the tribe’s leaders from the day when they had first
entered the forest lay at rest under its rich black soil.

The path then moved back into the woods where, as the trees thinned, it broadened considerably. This would be just the place where her brother could wait to attack them, she thought, if he was
being as dull and predictable as he usually was.