She was about to continue when Sir Norton appeared from behind the screen.
‘I am sorry, Marcus, but Sir Reynard and Sir Dominic wish to meet with you urgently.’
‘Artorus’s beard, I have barely sat down. Please excuse me, ladies; I will see you both later.’
They both nodded to him as he went. Cheris and Anaya were now alone.
‘It is good to see Marcus again,’ said Anaya. ‘He was my very first mentor before I was sent to the Isle of Healing. Irascible, but kind. And now he has you. He has spoken highly of you on previous visits. I knew he would bring you eventually.’
Cheris cleared her throat. ‘I just don’t want to disappoint him. In a way I wish I was a healer. It is far nobler to save life rather than to take it.’
She was surprised at the older woman’s reaction. She snorted derisorily and said harshly. ‘I used to think that, too. I thought being here would help me grow as a person; increase the nobility of my spirit. But the opposite has happened.’
‘How?’ said Cheris softly.
‘In the fighting season, when men are brought here in their dozens you have to make some terrible decisions. Last summer, for example, two men were brought in here at the same time and both were losing blood quickly. It could not be staunched by normal means and so I had to use magic. I then realised that I would only have time to save one of them, that I would have to let one of them die – and do you know what I did? I saved the best-looking one. A man died because I was possessed by a womanish whim. It turned out he had a wife and three children; she is probably selling herself to some tavern drunk in Athkaril now to stop them from starving. Nobility of the spirit indeed. What a joke, what a terrible joke.’
‘I am sorry Anaya, but you are still saving people here.’
Anaya ignored her. ‘The other thing is, because you have magic, people think you can practically make the dead walk. I am sick of telling people that I can stop blood loss but cannot reattach limbs; that I can stop pain, but can’t always remove its cause; that I can reset broken bone but cannot remove splinters; that I can stop further infections but cannot heal putrefied flesh. The list goes on and on.’
‘Too much is being expected of you. Your hair had no grey when I last saw you.’
‘Oh that! It is part worry, yes, but also it is because in summer I use our powers every day. You know there is a price to pay for that, a drain on our bodies from which both time and rest are required for recovery. If you get neither, well, you can see what happens.’
‘Of course,’ said Cheris sympathetically. ‘Look, when my year here is up, I will go with Marcus to the healers and insist they replace you.’
Anaya smiled. ‘Thank you. It is not all bad here. In winter I get a lot of freedom. I have been to St Delph’s University in Tanaren a few times to study in the library there and Baron Felmere has even given me a cottage, near to a place called Shayer Ridge, where I can relax away from everyone. If only I could see an end to this Keth-accursed war, a decisive stroke that would end all the suffering, I would be happier. Unfortunately, I think it will last for many more years yet.’
‘We don’t know that. I hear the Grand Duke is putting much effort into resolving things.’
Anaya looked motherly. ‘Aah, child, you are so naive; all these men of war think they have the ability to do something here. In reality, they are the problem, not the resolution. There is no resolution.’
Hearing footsteps, they stopped talking. Marcus walked around the partition.
‘Sorry, Anaya, but I must take Cheris from you for the moment. Sir Reynard Lanthorpe and Sir Dominic Hartfield both wish to meet her.’
13
My dearest Leonie,
It seems such a long time since I have seen you! I hope all is well with you and your husband and that that waistline of yours is not giving you too much concern (although the way you attacked the custard at my wedding feast gives me reason to believe that this may be something of a forlorn hope). It was lovely to see you and Giselle that night – who knows when I shall see you both again?
I am settled here now. The journey from Erskon House took an absolute age, although it was interesting to see the country change. You plunge into the Forest of Morrathnay, climb up and around Mount Talman, then travel down into western Tanaren, a land of small fields enclosed with stone walls, hills scattered with fluffy white sheep, swift foam-flecked rivers and small copses full of trees stunted by the wind. It is a rugged land with few people, all housed in stone buildings – for stone is more plentiful than wood here.
Eventually we entered a small port town Vihag or Vihaga (I have heard it called both) where we took ship and a day later landed at Osperitsan, an island very much like the land we had just left. Two things I wish to convey to you. The first is a source of minor irritation – why is it called the north here when all the maps show it to be in the west? North-western would be a far more accurate expression and that is the one I shall use from now on. The second point – something I am sure you will agree with – is to the utter remoteness of where I now am. It does feel like a different country here – the life of the people here is as far removed from life in Tanaren City as it would be from life on the moon! Did you know there was a famine here barely five years ago? Many of the elderly and the young perished here and yet I knew nothing of it.
The baronial hall is similar to Erskon House with the exception that it is built purely in stone. Other than that, it is long and low and has two storeys, although its enclosing wall has towers and battlements – once necessary apparently, as they had great trouble with the Kudreyan pirates until we defeated them.
The Baron, that is my husband, has been courteous and respectful to me, probably too respectful; he is not the first person to think I am made of the finest porcelain. Hopefully he will learn in time. He arranged a reception for me on arrival which was attended by most of the local nobility. It seems you only need to own a cabbage patch and a one-room house here to call yourself a baron. There appeared to be hundreds of them; I ended the evening more confused than ever. I like one baron, Einar, who is my husband’s closest friend and who appears to have taken a shine to me. He has been a great prop to me as I adjust to my new life.
And with that I shall finish for now. I have a new handmaiden called Ebba. She is a sweet girl, much nearer to my age than Doren. She has already said she will arrange delivery of this letter along with the others I have written to Father and Giselle. Mind you, by the time I finish signing my name the winter’s snows may be over and we will be looking at the first bluebells of spring.
Take care and love as always,
Lady Ceriana Osperitsan-Hartfield, Baroness of Osperitsan and the Far Reaches, Keeper of the Ancient Traditions of Kibil (I jest not – I do not even know what they are!), Scion of Tanaren and the North... (There is more but I will desist at this point.)
Ceriana folded the parchment and applied the wax seal of Osperitsan, twin axes surmounting a wolf’s head. She then put it with the two other letters she had written earlier. Once that was done she sat back in her chair, peered out of the leaded window and let out an enormous sigh.
She had been one week in her new home. She had her own quarters and they were comfortable, filled as they were with dark wooden furniture that would have been considered old-fashioned in the higher echelons of Tanarese society but which seemed perfectly suited to her surroundings here. The windows were small and faced north, overlooking a cobbled, straw-strewn courtyard and a cluster of outbuildings that nestled against the modestly high battlement. Thin wisps of smoke trailed upwards from their chimneys dissipating into the watery blue sky over which thin straggling beards of white cloud drifted slowly. It was colder here than it was back in Tanaren City, or even draughty Edgecliff castle, which accounted for the blazing fireplace in her room, a constant feature since her arrival. Beyond the external wall lay the cluster of low stone buildings which made up the town of Osperitsan. All the buildings were small with no more than two roo
ms, with the exception of the house of Artorus and house of Meriel, both of which stood slightly apart from the town itself, in their own square. She had discovered that the people here made a living either through employment in the baron’s service or from the myriad of smallholdings scattered over the nearby hills, all of which were surrounded by the dry-stone walls so prevalent in the area.
Not that she had been out since she had arrived; it had seemed far easier for her to keep to her own rooms rather than stepping out into the unknown. Einar had been kind to her but he had left for his own lands in the west of the island. She had learned that the island itself was divided into three baronetcies – a Baron Thudig held the lands in the south. Her husband had spent little time with her; he admittedly had been busy since his return but seemed to have little inclination to seek out her company other than to assert his marital rights over her on a couple of occasions. Even then she felt he was doing it more out of a sense of duty than anything else. She obviously disappointed him in pretty much every respect, but what could she do? The marriage had not been her choice either.
‘Ebba!’ she called – Artorus’s teeth, she even felt self-conscious raising her voice! From an anteroom a tall dark-haired lugubrious-looking girl entered; she was maybe five or six years older than Ceriana with a pallid face and large hawk-like nose. Baron Wulfthram’s choice as her new handmaiden.
‘Ebba, I have completed my letters; you said a merchant is leaving for Tanaren City tomorrow.’
‘Yes, my Lady.’ She took the letters. ‘He delivers letters there for us all the time.’
‘How much do you need to give him?’
‘A crown will suffice, my Lady.’
Ceriana unlocked a wooden box and passed the money to Ebba. ‘He is not one of those to pocket the money and burn the letters, is he?’
‘Certainly not, my Lady.’ Ebba sounded most put out. ‘He is a man of integrity and, besides, you are far too important for him to lose your letters. It is hardly something he could get away with doing.’ Ceriana felt humbled and a little guilty.
‘Oh I am sorry – my words were badly chosen. I did not mean to imply anything untoward. You will soon learn that my mouth runs away from me at times. Please don’t think any the worse of me.’
‘Of course not, my Lady. I will take these letters to him and return presently. What do you wish of me on my return?’
‘Perhaps you could run a bath for me, a hot one if possible; I am feeling cold again, I am afraid.’
‘As you wish, my Lady.’ Ebba nodded and was gone.
Ceriana looked out of the window and watched Ebba as she emerged into the courtyard and headed for an outbuilding. She picked up a book – A History of the Baronetcies of Northern Tanaren, Their hierarchy and Organisation – which she had been perusing avidly since her arrival and continued from where she had left off earlier.
The following morning she felt the need for spiritual guidance. The manor house had its own small private chapel situated to the rear of her own quarters. It had a small pulpit and seating for about ten people over two small pews. The father of Artorus who tendered to it was a decrepit octogenarian by the name of Sidden who had been retained in his dotage since the chapel itself was barely used. He greeted her in a frail but kindly voice.
‘Hello, my dear, do you wish to share a small prayer with me? Your company will be most welcome. It does get rather lonely at times here.’
‘Yes, Father, I would like that very much. We can both be lonely together.’
‘Very well, my Lady, then let us read the Prayer of Artorus right at the front of the holy book.’
She bowed her head, opened the book and read, even though she knew the words by heart. Her clear plaintive voice married with his tremulous high-pitched one in the oddest of duets.
‘Oh Artorus, father of the Gods, creator of the Heavens and the Earth and all its multitude of creatures therein, guide us, your most humble servants, to follow in Thy divine path, to show mercy even to the most undeserving, to show generosity even to the most avaricious, to show kindness even to the most cruel and temperance even to the most dissolute. Let us show, through our own supplication and self-sacrifice, the qualities inherent in both Thyself and in Camille, Thy divine consort, and let us purge ourselves of the unclean desires of vanity, pride, greed and idleness. I dedicate my life to Thou. I dedicate my heart to those whom I love, family and neighbours all. I would gladly sacrifice my body to honour Thy glory. Please give me the strength to always honour Thee, for now and for eternity until Xhenafa claims me for his own. As it must be. For ever.
Father Sidden stopped at this point but Ceriana continued with the Prayer of Elissa:
‘Oh Elissa, protector of all women, provider of our virtues of modesty and strength of mind, of our qualities of endurance and forbearance, of our loyalty and steadfastness to others even if they deserve it not, unlike Thee who deserveth it more than any mortal man, imbue me with Thy light, make my heart stronger than those around me and fill me with Thy love and divine spirit so that I may show to others the best that my sex has to offer. Endow me with your gift of fertility and enable me to nurture my own progeny with both strength and gentility. Protect me and my family from Keth and the furnace and make me immune to temptation, for now and for eternity until Xhenafa claims me for his own. As it must be. For ever.’
Father Sidden waited patiently for her to finish, a look of gentle concern on his face. ‘What troubles you, child? Has it been difficult for you to settle in?’
She looked at him, unsure as to how much she should tell him.
‘Everyone has been very polite, Father. Really, really polite. I am frightened to say anything so as not to offend and this is from someone brought up in the courts of Tanaren city.’
‘Your lineage goes before you; you are seen as someone far more important than Baron Wulfthram. Nobody wants to offend someone so close to the Grand Duke, at least not openly.’
‘But I am not important,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘The fourth child is never important, yet even my husband seems to think I am some sort of spy for the Grand Duke or at least a close confidante.’
‘Does he treat you as the others do?’
‘Yes, he is worse if anything; he seems to do anything to avoid my company.’
The old man stepped down from his pulpit and sat beside her.
‘You need to understand that the Baron loved his late wife a great deal. He, if truth be told, is still grieving for her. The situation is very, very hard for you and it will take some time for him to accept you fully. But please do not despair over this. I see a lot of similarities between Sofie and yourself; you are even physically similar to the way she was and you share her kindness, humour and generosity of spirit. You need to pray to Camille for the virtue of patience. If you do that, you will be rewarded in the future – I believe Artorus will show Wulthram the way to you. Be patient, child; it will happen.’
‘Thank you, Father. It may even be that I have been avoiding him as much as he has been avoiding me. I shall go and speak with him as soon as I can. Maybe after I have eaten.’
He looked at her with mild surprise. ‘Maybe not today, my Lady. He is meeting with the Northern Council.’
She tried to affect forgetfulness. ‘Of course, he did tell me earlier; my head is like a sieve. Having said that, Father, he did not actually explain what the Northern Council is.’
‘It is the three-monthly meeting of major barons here, along with other people important in local politics. They discuss anything of significance in the region and determine what to do about any problems. I believe your father has been invited to one early next year.’
So the local priest in his dotage knew more about events than she. She gave him a sideways glance. ‘It is being held here, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, my Lady; it always is.’
‘Thank you, Father. For everything.’ She went to go. When she got to the door, however, she stopped and, turning back to the priest, said,
‘Did Wulfthram’s wife ... sorry, I mean the Lady Sofie ... did the Lady Sofie ever attend these meetings?’
‘I believe she did, most of them anyway. I do not know how big a part she played in them.’
‘Thank you, Father.’ Ceriana bade him farewell and shut the door.
It was a large door, panelled in dark wood, and she had been looking at it for some ten minutes or so, clasping and unclasping her hands, smacking her lips and exhibiting a dozen other symptoms of agitation. It was the door to the main hall, where the barons were, where the Council were currently meeting, and all that she had to do was open it and walk through. Except something was stopping her. Instead, she stood in the dark stone windowless corridor, lit only by a couple of flaming torches, guttering in their brackets. Above each was a small open grill in the roof, built to release the smoke. Not that they did a good job. The acrid taste of soot stuck in the back of her throat, drying it even more. She could hear the harsh cry of a crow; it must have been on the roof right next to of one the grills. It sounded as if it were mocking her.
‘Come on, you foolish girl; what would your father think of you? All you have to do is open the door and take your rightful seat as the wife of the chief baron of the north and daughter of a duke. Just walk through into a room of total strangers, all of whom see you as the child you undoubtedly are judging from current behaviour.’ She had changed into one of her grander dresses, a rich purple velvet one embroidered in gold thread, and perfumed herself with rose-water, to try and bolster her feeble resolve. It still wasn’t working, though. Artorus’s eyes! All she needed was a little courage, just for a couple of seconds. The alternative was to spend a lifetime hiding in her room, in a land full of strangers. It suddenly seemed quite enticing just to turn around, return to her own room, and sit in her favourite chair watching the light drizzle fog up the window she read by. Enticing indeed! Then she slapped her hands smartly to her sides, cleared her throat, muttered something like ‘Damn me for a fool’ to herself, strode forward and opened the door.
The Forgotten War Page 21
