The Forgotten War (8 page)

‘If you have any left,’ she said with a shrug, ‘bring them over to me! ... I have six weeks then.’

‘Yes, you will marry at Erskon. The Grand Duke will use the occasion to size up the northern barons, then you will travel to Osperitsan the following morning. My first official visit will
be some time after.’

‘I imagine this Wulfthram is as unhappy about this match as we are.’

‘Yes and no. On the surface it will be seen as an effort to rein him in, so I would expect a public display of reserved antipathy; however, in reality a northern baron has just been given
a seat at the Grand Duke’s high table. It is almost unprecedented. It is forcing him to tread a line between pleasing his fellow barons and pleasing the Grand Duke, which is of course
Leontius’s intention in the first place.’

There was silence for a moment. She stood up and looked out of the window staring idly at a lone goose pecking its way across the courtyard’s straw-covered stone. Her world was falling in
on her. ‘Thank you for telling me, Father, for explaining everything. If this is my duty, I will not fail you.’

‘Thank you, my dear, and I am sorry.’ He came towards her, kissed her gently on the forehead, then turned and left the room.

Ceriana watched him go, down the narrow passageway leading from her room then down the steps towards the great hall. She then shut the door, sat on the bed and rubbed her eyes, trying
desperately to stop the tears welling up inside them.

She needed to get out of the castle. Being the daughter of a duke, however, this was easier said than done. Firstly she had to tell the seneschal who had to arrange an escort, check her route so
any undesirables could be cleared out of the way, and organise wagons, supplies and the like. Once all that was done, she could proceed.

The coastline around the castle was all high cliffs and precipitous drops, but some two miles away a small river, barely more than a stream, cut a cleft through the hills before entering the
sea. Where it did this there was a small rocky beach that could be accessed only via a steep path that was almost completely concealed by brakes of high ferns on both sides. This beach was a
favourite spot of Ceriana’s; it was quiet, with just the sound of the sea, the gulls and the wind whipping her hair into an unholy mess. The wagons had to be left at the top of the path and
those retainers and soldiers who had no choice about remaining up there with them had to endure the steep climb down, burdened as they were with provender and other essentials required for a picnic
on the beach.

She took a little guilty pleasure in hearing them cursing and sweating as they clambered over the soft earth and pebbles. The ferns made the air still and hot, and the cloying smell of the
densely packed vegetation filled the soldiers’ noses. At long last, at the bottom of the path, the ground levelled, the ferns suddenly fell away and they were hit with the shock of the sea
air billowing around them, cooling the sweat on their faces, its exhilarating freshness bringing new vigour to tired legs. The journey back up the hill was another matter entirely but Ceriana would
worry about that later. Now she was just standing looking at the waves as they broke on the sand and crashed against rocks, and wondering if she would ever see one of her favourite spots again.

Lady Catherine scurried up to her, her pinched face blotched red with exertion. ‘I really wish you would choose somewhere more accessible for your walk, my Lady.’

‘If it was easy to get to, then it would be full of people and hardly the same place at all. The effort to get here makes this a much more appreciable place, don’t you
think?’

‘I don’t think my legs will be appreciating anything tomorrow,’ the girl groaned.

But Ceriana wasn’t listening to her; she had already started to walk along the beach. Ahead of her a couple of soldiers fanned out, with more either side and behind her. Just clambering
through the ferns were some servants, including some unfortunates bearing heavy hampers for the meal they would take on the beach.

Since the conversation with her father she had gradually come to terms with the fate awaiting her. The wedding was now only a couple of weeks away and, although she had always imagined that she
would want to control all the minutiae of its organisation, she found herself surprised to find that she had no interest in it at all. Rather, she was content to let the myriad servants, courtiers
and sycophants who had appeared at the announcement to get on with it. Instead, she contented herself with seclusion, being surrounded with as few people as possible and taking in the joys of
reading, Megan’s harp and even embroidery, although she was still terrible at it. She felt that she was a passive observer in her own life; it was a journey in which she was merely a
passenger and she had no control of either the destination or the directions required to get there. If that was the way it was to be, she thought, then so be it. She could get married standing in a
muddy puddle and wearing the hides of beasts if that was what they wanted. She had to content herself with small victories and today was one of them.

Berek came up to her; he could be quite a cold fish at times, although he was always so busy she never blamed him for it. He didn’t need to come along really, but she sensed that he was
just as relieved to get out for a few hours as she was. ‘My Lady,’ he enquired, ‘is there any particular place you would like us to set up your picnic?’

‘Oh, somewhere quite close to the stream, I suppose. Not too close, though; we don’t want anyone falling in.’ She giggled at this as though the idea of someone falling in was
actually quite amusing.

‘As you wish, my Lady. Just give us ten minutes or so to set things up.’

‘Of course, Berek. In the meantime I will walk along the beach just where the waves come in.’

‘Don’t get your feet wet, my Lady.’

‘I will try not to but I doubt if I will have any success,’ she said impishly.

He smiled, a notable event in itself. ‘Well, we have towels and clean shoes should they be required, my Lady.’

‘Thank you, Berek. You think of everything.’

She left him and, along with Lady Catherine, meandered slowly towards the shoreline. The phalanx of soldiers still stood protectively ahead of her and behind her, although apart from their party
the beach was deserted. She looked back to see Berek and a dozen servants fixing up trestle tables (who on earth had carried
them
? she wondered) and opening hampers, although the wind was
doing its best to foil their endeavours. The early-afternoon sun was strong off the sea and when she looked ahead of her she had to shelter her eyes with her hand.

There appeared to be something of a commotion with the soldiers ahead of her. One was pointing to an object that appeared to have been brought in by the tide; another soldier was trying to get
Berek’s attention by waving and shouting in his direction. The wind whipped his voice away almost before she could hear the words –

‘Sir Berek, a body, a body on the beach!’

Curious, she turned her head back towards the object in question and saw that it was indeed as the soldier had described it. It was too far away for her to make out any distinctive features but
it looked like a man, a man in a black cloak and boots. She was about to go in for a closer look but at that point Berek stepped in front of her.

‘No, my Lady, let the soldiers and myself deal with this; he may have been in the sea a long time.’

Thus stymied, she turned and walked away from the soldiers who were rushing to the scene, towards a large rock that stood up from the beach like a rotten tooth, shallow waves breaking gently
against it.

Lady Catherine, having caught up with her, put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Elissa, how terrible!’

‘Go to the servants, Catherine. Stay with them until Berek says otherwise.’

As Catherine left her, she realised that for once she was alone and not the focus of everybody’s attention. Her pace quickened towards the rock, and she decided to explore it. It was
irregular and had footholds; perhaps she could even climb on it before she was seen. Once she got there she looked around – she was still unnoticed. Quickly she pulled up her dress, exposing
her ankles and calves along with her woefully inadequate soft shoes, and started to clamber on to the rock. She skirted around its edge until where she stood was actually overlooking the sea. They
are bound to see me soon, she thought. She looked up and saw that the rock now completely concealed her from the soldiers as well as the servants. She would get such a scolding! The sea splashed at
the rock, wetting her feet and legs. She would need her spare shoes after all. And then she saw it.

What by Elissa was that? She crouched down for a better look. Some six inches under water, caught in a cleft in the rock, was what appeared to be a ruby. The problem with describing it thus,
though, was that it appeared to be nearly the size of Ceriana’s fist. She put her hand into the water, soaking her lace cuff. The ruby or whatever it was was embedded quite firmly and needed
a bit of a tug to get it free. It came loose in her hand but the effort required caused her foot to slip. She ended up on her backside, feet, legs and part of her dress in the sea. Then a larger
wave covered the rock face on which she was balanced, drenching her face and hair. She did not care, though. Righting herself, she took a deep breath before regarding her prize.

It
was
a ruby... What else could it be? It had no facets, certainly, but an unpolished stone would not sparkle as brilliantly as this did. She held the jewel up to the light and found her
face and neck bathed in a rich, blood-red luminosity. Yes, she thought, it has the colour of blood! As she stared at it she realised covetously that she did not want anyone else to see it, not yet
– not until she had examined it properly herself. She took out the handkerchief that she kept tucked into her dress and used it to quickly wrap the stone; she then gripped it tightly in one
hand so that it looked like she had just been using it to wipe sweat and water from her face and brow. She turned back, retracing her steps and with one last flourish hopped lightly off the
rock.

Berek was not five feet from her with an expression as if he had just drunk a flask of sour wine. He held up something in front of her face.

‘Clean shoes, my Lady?’

After the rain came the frost. The night was unseasonably cold. The inky blackness of the camp was lit up by a smattering of red smoking braziers around which the shadowy
figures of the night watch had congregated. Wispy tendrils of mist slithered between the tents, driving down the temperature. The dawn was coming. The ground was coated in brittle ice, and the mud,
churned up in the wet, had frozen into a variety of contorted ropelike patterns. As the camp stirred in the glow of the dawn, the sounds of heavy boots, animal hooves and the wheels of the wagons
crunching through this frozen sludge rose above the hoarse cries of the officers and the grumbling of the rank and file.

In many ways Reynard Lanthorpe was the Tanaren ideal – blond, blue-eyed, a well-trimmed flaxen beard – but even he had that barely perceptible look of a man who had seen more than he
should, a look borne by many men who had fought in this war too long.

‘Morning, Glaivedon.’ he said brusquely as Morgan ambled towards him, frenziedly rubbing his hands together. ‘I have to supply you with some men, I believe. I hope you
don’t want too many; there is only so many we can spare.’

‘Not too many, no. Four or five should be sufficient. We really want to move as quickly as possible and not get noticed, though that may be difficult with the wagon we have to take.
Whoever volunteers and is chosen needs to know that this is a job that carries many risks; maybe more than if they were to stay here war or no war.’

‘Experienced men then! They are an even more precious commodity. I spoke with the men last night and we have some volunteers. I will go to speak with them again. Shall I mention your
name?’

‘You had better – it may help to thin the number of volunteers down considerably.’

Twenty minutes later Reynard returned to where Morgan was waiting outside his tent with some dozen or more well-built, surly-looking men. Morgan recognised one of them immediately.

‘Hey, Rozgon!’ he called. ‘Still avoiding your wife?’

A grizzled bear of a man, almost as broad as he was tall with a shock of white hair and a long, tangled beard stepped forward. He wore what looked like a wolf pelt over his studded leather
jerkin and an ugly-looking axe swung at his side. He regarded Morgan fondly, only through one eye though, his left being white as milk.

‘By Keth, which one?’ He clasped Morgan in a grip as bearlike as his appearance. ‘Here’s me telling everyone you had died still owing me ten ducats.’ He was
renowned for never forgetting a gambling debt.

‘Pah, the dice were loaded, and they were your dice, I seem to remember; either that or you had Culo’s luck.’

‘They were my dice, they weren’t loaded and I don’t need the God of Chance to beat you!’

‘Do you ever lose with them? I mean, seriously? And what’s with the stupid beard?’

‘The good lady Britta, who does for me most handsomely in this blighted camp, says it makes me look younger.’

‘I suppose at your age I would like to look sixty, too.’

Rozgon snorted and smiled. ‘Cheeky whelp! If anyone else had said that they would be decorating their armour with their own teeth. Anyhow, what is this all about? The good knight says you
have a job to do, one that could drive us all into the arms of Xhenafa.’ Xhenafa was the god who carried the living to the world of the dead and their final judgement; soldiers would invoke
him if they saw their chances of survival as dubious.

‘He might be right, but I think we could all get through it. It is just a jaunt through Claw Pass. Want to come?’

‘Claw Pass?’ said Rozgon thoughtfully. ‘At this time of year? Keth take me! If it gets me out of this shithole of a camp, count me in. The newer recruits have no respect here,
you know. I was telling a few of them about our defence of Fort Axmian when one of them yawned. Yawned, I tell you! The little bastard, I had to dangle him upside down over the campfire before he
apologised.’