The Forgotten War

by Howard Sargent

  Margarete may have been many, many miles away but Ceriana felt as if she was being mothered to death. Since Ebba discovered her in her distressed state over a week ago she had been confined to bed, watched and pampered almost every minute of the day. A doctor had visited her. She had been leeched and forced to swallow antimony, which made her sick as a dog. Wulfthram had written to the mage healers, asking them to send someone, despite her imploring him not to do so. The fact was, aside from the doctor’s poisonings, she felt fine.

  She had hidden the stone before Ebba or anyone else could see it and it had given her no more trouble. They had allowed her to write letters, which she had done with great vigour producing almost a dozen, the real purpose of which was to render the letter to St Philig’s, the only one she had really wanted to write, inconspicuous.

  And then there was her scheduled trip to visit Baron Skellar, which was supposed to take place in two days’ time. Wulfthram had all but cancelled it, but she felt so hemmed in at the present time that the need to break out and do something else was strong in her. Also she wanted to make her mark here; having her first official visit cancelled on health grounds could not be borne.

  Ebba was sitting with her as she lay in bed, feeling an utter fraud. At one point she even fed her soup with a spoon. Ceriana, though, had warmed to her somewhat; she had been genuinely distressed at seeing her mistress on the floor all those days ago and her concern since was obviously not affected.

  ‘Ebba,’ she asked, ‘are you married?’

  ‘No, my Lady.’ Ebba looked at her. ‘I have a good man, a fisherman who spends many days at sea but we have never got round to be officially wed as of yet.’

  ‘Is that not seen as scandalous?’

  Ebba smiled. ‘A little, my Lady, especially among the more religious folk, but with the necessity of providing food, a house and my father’s limited means in providing a dowry it has just not been able to happen.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help? If you need money...’

  ‘No, my Lady, you are kind, but it would not be seemly for you to help the likes of me.’

  ‘Why ever not? I really would like to help you. I have my own means separate from my husband’s so I need not ask his permission.’

  Ebba looked at her; she was evidently wavering. ‘I will speak to my betrothed if it will make you content, my Lady.’

  ‘Please do so; it would make me very happy.’

  At that point the door opened and her husband walked in. Ebba curtsied and left the room. He looked at Ceriana.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Oh, Wulf, there is nothing wrong with me! I had an episode and, yes, I was upset and frightened but I am over that now. I need no healer or doctor and would like nothing more than to get out of bed and take my place at your side. In fact, I am quite happy to demonstrate for you now how fit, active and healthy I feel.’ She had a gleam in her eye as she took his hand and placed it on her breast.

  ‘Meriel works quickly I see.’

  ‘Indeed she does, especially with the righteous.’ Ceriana pulled him on to the bed next to her, putting his hand to her face this time. She stared at him, making her brown eyes as large and soulful as possible. ‘I wish to be as good a wife to you as possible, whether it be now, in our private time, or in fulfilling the more public duties...’

  ‘Like visiting Jon Skellar in two days’ time?’ He gently withdrew his hand.

  ‘Would it be so very wrong of me to do so? How would you feel if at the very first opportunity you had to prove yourself as First Baron of the North you took to your bed with an ague?’

  ‘You are young and thin as a wand, and the winds outside are getting colder.’

  ‘I am as Elissa wishes me to be. Can I not wear a cloak, or even those smelly furs you people here are so very fond of? Let me show how very grateful I can be.’ She put her head to his chest opening his shirt and kissing him.

  ‘I am not happy, but maybe if you shortened your stay with him...’ She stopped, looked at him and moved her head lower, then lower again. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Very well have it your own way. Return after just five days though. One other thing ...’

  She stopped again and looked up. He felt her silky hair against his bare flesh as her hands loosened his breeches. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You called me Wulf. Only my mother and Sofie have called me that.’

  ‘I am sorry. Shall I stop?’

  ‘No, don’t stop. Don’t stop at all.’

  She was the beast again. She could feel the power in that massive body, even though the bitter cold pervaded its flesh, rendering it torpid and sluggish. She could still hear the water dripping from the roof into the lake and the echo as an eyeless fish breached its surface before settling back into its nameless depths. There was a difference, though. Difficult though it felt, she knew it could open its eyes. She felt it doing so, felt the struggle to move its massive lids upwards. Her lids. It was done. She knew they were open, even if she could still see nothing. She sensed it was deep underground, deeper than any man had travelled. The underworld.

  Could she move? All concentration and energy were focused on the right forelimb. When her mind was here before it felt like it was cast in stone but not now. There was a pain, like the pain one felt after sleeping on one arm for too long and one had to wait before it could be moved – but slowly, inexorably, one felt life return to it. She felt the limb slowly lift and the digits clasp and unclasp, as life energy gradually seeped back into them. This was done for each limb in turn until all was ready for the next step.

  With trepidation (she could feel the beast’s trepidation as it were her own) she felt it starting to walk. As each foot came down, the ground trembled slightly and she could hear stones slide down unseen walls. Then it stopped, exhausted, needing a further rest. There was just enough energy to do one more thing. She felt the head raise itself and breath exhale from the body. As she stared ahead, a long gout of flame spurted from her. Suddenly the cave could be seen. It was vast! Cathedral-sized, its roof still shrouded in blackness, its walls reflecting the glitter of a thousand faceted gemstones. Then it was dark again. Exhausted but content, both she and the beast slept.

  It was difficult separating the skyline from the horizon. Both were slate grey and brooding, pensive and ominous. Slabs of white-flecked ocean rolled landward before crashing against the harbour wall, dashing salt and spray into the air to land on Ceriana’s upturned face. They had arrived not one hour ago and, although conditions were far from perfect, she had been told that the ship would depart very shortly. Servants were loading her luggage on to the war galley that would take her to Thakholm after just under two days’ sailing. It rose and fell with the swell of the water and she could hear its timbers creaking as the elements did their worst. One thing she was enjoying about living on the island was the freedom she was given to ride a horse. Back at Edgecliff more often than not she would be forced to sit in a wagon and be driven to her destination, but here it was just assumed that she would be riding herself. Wulfthram had an idea that the best way to see his country was to experience it in the raw, on a wild day such as this one, an idea she readily agreed with. And so, after an exhilarating three-hour ride southward through moorland, westward over rugged highlands pierced by a thousand icy streams, with the wind tugging at her clothes and pinching her nose and cheeks till they were pink, she felt completely stimulated and alive and excited about the journey ahead. Wulfthram was standing next to the boarding plank, talking to the ship’s captain. When he had finished he came over to her.

  ‘You may go aboard now if you wish; they will be leaving very shortly.’

  ‘Very well.’ She was smiling. ‘Tell me about where I am headed – what is this island like?’

  ‘Rocky,’ he said, phlegmatic as ever. ‘And small. Its most important asset is its sheltered harbour, a haven for the ships out here. The Baron’s residence is an interesting place, too; it is perched on a lip of rock j
utting into the sea so you are surrounded by water on three sides.’

  ‘I grew up in a castle with a similar aspect. It will probably seem very familiar.’ She hesitated a second. ‘Thank you for letting me do this.’

  ‘There is no need for that. You made it clear that this is what you wanted.’ He kicked a stone into the sea and paused before continuing. ‘The problem I have with you is that you look so young. You have no meat on you at all, have never left your parents’ side before and, yes, sometimes you behave like you have had just eighteen summers. Other times, however, you seem closer to my age than your own.’

  She didn’t want him to stop, so rarely was he open with her – so she just nodded silently.

  ‘Sofie was some ten years younger than I. At first it was noticeable – to me she seemed frivolous and shallow and to her I am sure I seemed dour and grim. Over time, though, an understanding developed and by the time she died, well, we ... were more like very close friends than husband and wife.’

  Ceriana stared at the waves. ‘I am sorry for your loss, truly.’

  Neither spoke for a minute. They both stood there watching the ship moving slowly and listening to the gulls crying their frustration as they battled the headwind.

  ‘What is the island’s name again?’

  ‘Thakholm.’

  She laughed. ‘Your accents are so funny, very up and down all the time. Thaaak-hoolm,’ she mimicked, deliberately exaggerating the pronunciation.

  By the Gods, she made him smile. ‘At least I don’t sound like I spend all my time with a peach in my mouth.’

  She looked amazed. ‘Do I sound like that? Honestly?’

  He looked at her. ‘With an accent like yours you could never be anything else than royalty.’

  ‘Well, I never knew!’ she exclaimed. ‘I wonder what I will sound like after a few years here.’

  ‘Your father and mother will never recognise you, especially if you cover yourself in our – what was it? – our smelly furs.’

  ‘Yes and maybe I would have got used to that poisonous ale you drink round here and I will have a blotchy bright-red nose all drinkers seem to have.’

  ‘Not a bad idea!’ he said. ‘A nice contrast for those freckles.’

  Her bony elbow dug him in the ribs. ‘I suppose I had better go.’ She sighed.

  ‘Yes, ‘ he said, ‘it is time. Don’t let that rogue Skellar try and get his hands on your stays.’

  She snorted contemptuously. ‘I think you will find, my husband, that it is only the older or somewhat overweight woman that needs to resort to corsetry. I never wear them. I would have hoped you had noticed that by now. And Baron Skellar won’t be getting his hands on anything of importance, I assure you.’

  The captain waved over at them. Sailors were buzzing over the decks now – departure was obviously imminent. Ceriana made to move.

  ‘Goodbye, my husband. See you in a week or so.’

  ‘Indeed. Have a pleasant journey and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Thank you. Farewell for now.’

  She smiled a soft smile at him and walked up to the ship. The captain gently took her hand and guided her over the gangplank. She followed him as he led her below deck where she was lost from view.

  Wulfthram stood and watched as the mooring ropes were cast off and the vessel was pushed into the harbour’s main channel. Under the power of its oars, it was slowly manoeuvred out to sea and clear of the headland. Once it was there, the oars were withdrawn and a single sail raised. It caught the wind almost immediately and sped out to sea, the flag of Osperitsan flapping proudly from its main mast. He continued to watch until it was barely discernible against the horizon. Then he suddenly turned, climbed on to his horse and was away in an instant.

  16

  Marcus walked quickly towards the parade ground at the centre of the camp, leaving Cheris struggling to keep up with him. When he got there he turned right towards the front gate. She huffed and puffed behind him until at last she had had enough. She pulled his sleeve and stopped dead on the road.

  ‘’Lissa’s blood. I am not moving another step until you talk to me.’

  Benignly he stopped and turned to her. ‘What is it, my dear?’

  ‘Why on earth should these people want to see me? What by all the Gods have I got to say to them?’

  ‘You are a mage. That is enough. You will be privy to all war councils and strategy meetings because of your talents. We may be feared elsewhere but the only thing a good general likes more than having a mage in his army is having two mages. It’s like the Winter Feast celebration has come early for them.’

  ‘I rather thought,’ she said archly, ‘that I would be able to hide behind you in all these matters.’

  ‘And so you shall. They still want to see you, though. Dominic Hartfield is a knight of the Grand Duke’s personal bodyguard and Reynard Lanthorpe of the Eagle Claw is pretty much Baron Felmere’s second-in-command here. I have a feeling they will just want to size you up. Whenever a mage turns out to be a woman, it makes them a little wary. Women on the battlefield are an ... odd concept for them.’

  ‘Well, if they want to send me home they are more than welcome. Come on then, let’s get this over with.’

  Marcus continued onwards. Amid all the tents and pavilions was a low building constructed hastily out of logs. Its doorway was little more than a sheet of canvas, currently being held open by a fastening hammered into the wood. Without hesitating, Marcus strode inside. Cheris stopped, rolled her eyes a little and plunged in after him.

  The structure was just a single room, windowless with a bare earthen floor. Light was provided by a couple of lanterns which were barely up to the task. From what she could see there were two other men in the room, both in full armour. One was fair-haired and bearded, and the other had short dark hair and was clean-shaven. Aside from that, she could make out little in the gloom. Marcus spoke.

  ‘Sir Reynard, Sir Dominic, allow me to introduce Cheris Menthur, a lady of not inconsiderable talent, whom I have had the pleasure of mentoring these last fifteen years.’

  Both men bowed curtly to her; she, being unsure of how to respond, did the same. The blond man spoke.

  ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, my Lady. As you are probably aware, this war has been bogged down rather nastily for the past few years. However with your arrival and that of many other troops including Sir Dominic’s here, Baron Felmere is poised to make a decisive push against the enemy before winter sets in.’

  Sir Dominic broke in. ‘Most of this camp will be moving forward over the next couple of days to join the main army. Then the forces will be mobilized for a strike on the town of Grest, on the river Whiterush. If we take the town before winter, then we can use it as a forward base from which to further advance on them next year.’

  ‘There will be battle then? Very soon?’ Cheris tried to sound casual.

  ‘Most definitely,’ said Reynard. ‘The Grand Duke is determined to give this conflict fresh impetus and to prosecute it with vigour until the enemy concedes the land he has taken from us. That is why your talent has been employed.’

  Dominic spoke. ‘Marcus tells us this is your first military deployment.’

  ‘Indeed it is. It is actually my first time off the island since my childhood.’

  ‘There will be a lot of pressure on you to display your Lucan-given talent. Are you not afeard of buckling under everybody’s expectations?’

  Cheris felt her hackles rise – she could question her own abilities, Marcus could question them, but for a layman to do so was little more than barefaced cheek. Perhaps a demonstration was in order.

  ‘I am terribly sorry, Sir Dominic, but the light in here is terrible and I would rather see the face of the man accusing me of being a flake. If you don’t mind?’

  She made a quick gesture with her hands and said something under her breath. Instantly the room was illuminated with a soft white glow emanating from her upturned palm, picking out the startled expressio
ns of the two young men. She could see they were both ruggedly handsome, tall, with a determined set to their jaw. She didn’t bother looking at Marcus; she knew his disapproving expression only too well.

  ‘There,’ she said breezily, ‘is that not better?’

  Suddenly Dominic laughed. ‘Exactly the response I was looking for! Reynard, we will have to watch this one. Bit of a change from the sycophants we usually have to deal with, eh?’

  Reynard looked at her. With the light she could see his keen blue eyes piercing her like a lance. ‘Indeed, my friend, though she will have to be aware that the Arshumans, too, have a mage who may not be as impressed with this as we are.’

  Marcus spoke. ‘I have heard of this mage. In battle we can seek each other out like beacons; we can sense when our opponent is trying to draw energy from the Plane of Lucan and can travel there with him and so try to nullify his powers. I will have to deal with him.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, and it will be both your jobs to stop him raining havoc down upon us like he did last time,’ said Reynard.

  Dominic, still smiling, made towards the door. ‘In two days’ time Baron Felmere holds a council of war at the forward camp. You will both be there, and then we will see how our fortunes will fare. I bid you both good day.’ He bowed and left them.

  ‘Yes,’ said Reynard, ‘sleep here tonight and the three of you can join us there tomorrow. Things are moving quickly now. By the spring we may even have newer, more exotic allies, but I cannot speak of this further at the present time.’

  Cheris asked him, ‘Have you been out here long?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, almost ruefully, ‘almost since the beginning. No one will be happier to see a rapid and successful outcome than I.’

  As he left, Cheris dropped the light spell; it was showing up far too many spiders in the corners of the room. She followed Marcus outside.

  ‘Sorry for the cheap parlour trick.’

  He laughed and started walking back to the healer’s tent. ‘Don’t be! I thought it was rather effective. Imagine, two seasoned warriors doubting the powers of a twenty-two-year old girl.’ He laughed again.