He took two or three steps to his right, then back to his left, and with a swift gesture kicked the table from under the other man’s feet. Oblivious to the swinging jerking figure he continued. ‘Honour is not about bowing to your opponent or waiting for him to stand if he falls over. Honour is about survival; it is about winning; it is about killing your opponent without mercy and taking his money, weapons, house and woman. There is no honour in lying cold in the mud with the crows plucking your eyes out as the worms wriggle through your grey flesh... But there is honour in drinking that man’s wine and spending his coin while his grateful widow kneels willingly before you. Follow me without question and all this honour shall be yours. No more hungry bellies for your families, no more being spat upon by fat merchants as you sell them your underpriced goods and they sell you their overpriced ones. Follow me and see the fear and respect in the eyes of those that once loathed you. Sir Trask will make you the men you always wanted to be.’
The jerking of the man next to him had nearly stopped. As with all victims of hanging he had soiled himself, and urine was dripping from his boot on to the soft grass below. There was a flash of steel as Trask suddenly took hold of the man’s arm. For a few moments his audience could not see what he was doing, as he had his back to them, but then he stepped in front of the fire. By its fierce light he looked like one of Keth’s demons returned to this world ... and then they saw it. It was a rope of thin wire and attached to it, like the charms of a bracelet, were a selection of human fingers, some blackened and swollen, some white and bloodless. Bakker’s finger was there, too, dripping blood on to Trask’s armour. He addressed them again.
‘Show your enemies the meaning of fear. If they fear your attack, then they cease to think rationally and your knife is already at their throat. Make them fear you and you will have all the honour in the world.’
As one they raised their fists and weapons into the air and called out hoarsely, ‘Sir Trask! Sir Trask and Haslan Falls!’
Their cries echoed deep and long into the night and none who heard it failed to tremble.
22
Ceriana had been fitful and restless during the entire sea voyage back to Osperitsan. Ebba watched her as she would fidget in her cabin, stand up, sit down and stalk around its narrow confines. Oftentimes she would give an exasperated sigh and go up top to the quarterdeck where she would spend some time scanning the horizon almost as if she was expecting to see another ship following them. Then when night came she would toss and turn and make little whimpering noises as if in the thrall of an upsetting dream. Ebba had tried to ask her what the problem was but was met with uncharacteristic truculence and surliness. Once Ebba had caught her alone in the cabin with her head in her hands rocking back and forth in her seat. She sat up abruptly on hearing the door open and Ebba could see wetness in her eyes, something which her angry ‘Knock before you enter next time’ could not disguise. The journey home had therefore been a difficult one.
Still, it was over now – the ship was moored in Osperitsan harbour where Wulfthram was waiting to greet his wife. She bowed to him and he asked her how her trip went.
‘Well enough. We toured the island and inspected the ships; Barons Richney and Vorfgan were there also for a couple of days; I enjoyed it ... mostly.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Tell me more later. You have a couple of guests waiting for you back at the hall. I was going to give them short shrift and send them packing, but they showed me a letter you had written to them so I have put them up in the guest’s quarters for now.’
She was taken aback. ‘They are here? Father wrote to inform me they were on their way but I only received his letter in Thakholm and so have been unable to let you know about them.’
‘I imagine the second they saw you are a Hartfield they stopped whatever they were doing and came here as fast as a horse could carry them. You forget the weight your name carries.’
‘But I never even got around to telling you about them. I thought they would write first.’
‘No, you didn’t tell me. So perhaps you could furnish me with an explanation now.’
She could sense the disapproval in his voice and her heart sank. Was there anyone she could turn to?
‘It is ... complicated. I was going to tell you about it when I knew they were either coming here or had written back. As it stands, I need to get some answers before I can tell you what I know. I am sorry it has happened this way, but I am asking you to trust me in this, please.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too desperate.
He seemed to accept this. ‘I am disappointed that you feel unable to tell me, but no matter. Meet these people and talk to me afterwards, if that is what you wish.’
She felt the chasm between them that had narrowed in recent weeks yawn open again. She realised she did not know what to say to him and so kept silent.
Despite her wealth and status, all her life she had battled her own feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. Doren called them her ‘black moods’ and knew to keep her distance when she was in one. Since her encounter with the black-robed man in Thakholm she had slipped into a miasma of torpid listlessness where she had wanted to do nothing more than lock herself in a room and blow out the candle. She had managed to keep up a front of restrained cheer to Baron Skellar, but once on the ship she had been ghastly to Ebba and could never shake off the sensation of being watched or followed. How had they traced her? Was it the stone? And who were these people anyway? Well, at least she might find out soon. Then maybe she could tell her husband before she was reduced to requesting a formal audience with him like everybody else.
They arrived back in silence under a leaden sky carrying the threat of rain. Wulfthram courteously bade her farewell and she headed to her room via a tradesman’s entrance, thus avoiding the main hall. Her baggage was in her room when she got there and Ebba was busying herself with unpacking it. Ceriana decided to speak to her.
‘I am sorry for my behaviour the last couple of days. Things have been worrying me of late and like the witch I am I have been taking it out on you. It has been wrong of me to behave this way; my old handmaiden Doren understood what I could be like but you, poor dear, have been thrown to a tetchy she wolf without any foreknowledge at all. I hope you can forgive me.’
‘Of course, my Lady; I can see that you have been under some pressure of late. I reckon it has something to do with your recent illness; you have been a little ... different since then. You shouldn’t, of course, give a fish wife’s curse for what your servants think of you.’
‘Oh but I do, Ebba, of course I do; especially as you have been so helpful since my arrival. I will humble myself before you a little more later on, but right now I have to see these people waiting for me. After the distance they have travelled it would be discourteous of me not to see them immediately; we will speak more once I get back.’
Her guests were the only people in the main hall. The servants had left them with some simple foods – bread, cheese and apples along with some weak beer. There were two of them: a distinguished, silver-haired man who exuded an aura of dusty academia and a girl, about Ceriana’s age, wearing a severe bun and who was all demure passivity. They both stood as she approached them.
‘I thank you both for coming; I really was only expecting a written reply so I hope your journey was not too arduous. I am Ceriana by the way, but I am sure you have already guessed that.’
The man bowed. ‘I am Professor Ulian, my Lady, and allow me to introduce Alys, my assistant in this matter. I can assure you our journey was most uneventful; the horrors of the Morrathnay Forest are greatly exaggerated. We obviously departed as soon as was practicable upon receipt of your letter. I must confess I travel little and have found the new surroundings most stimulating.’
‘And I trust the accommodation is to your satisfaction?’
‘Compared to the rooms at St Philig’s it is opulence indeed, although at first I feared we may be reduced to finding a bale of straw to bed down in.’
‘No need at all, my Lady; it was all resolved quickly enough, Now shall we get down to the matter at hand.’
He had a powerful voice and was obviously used to speaking in front of a crowd. Ceriana decided to try and involve his companion in the conversation.
‘Indeed, I am most anxious to hear your conclusions, but first my I ask the Lady Alys as to how she became involved in the academic life? It is so rare to see a woman in a scholastic profession after all; you must be very proud of your achievements.’
The girl looked directly at her. Unlike Ceriana, who had spent her entire life preening herself with a host of make-up powders, scented oils, exotic herbs and flowers and expensive jewellery, she was simply dressed in white linen with the well-scrubbed appearance of a farmer’s wife. Her large blue eyes, however, gave her a natural gentle beauty to which Ceriana felt she herself could never aspire.
‘My role is but a small one,’ she said shyly. ‘Master Cedric, another professor at the university, happened to see me sketching portraits in Tanaren market one day and engaged me on a freelance basis to reproduce many of the artefacts in his collection on paper. Since then I have become a more or less full-time assistant of his and have even accompanied him on field trips. It is I who sketched the ring you yourself mentioned in your letter, my Lady.’
‘Yes,’ said Ulian. ‘I had better clarify the situation as quickly as possible in order to assuage your disappointment. I am not the professor to whom your letter is addressed; he, Cedric, is engaged on some errand for the Grand Duke. We are attempting to contact him but until we do I am afraid it is my humble self who will have to serve in his stead. I can assure you that I work closely with him and Alys has been extremely helpful in furnishing information for me, but, yes, this is more his field than mine.’
‘I see,’ said Ceriana. ‘How do your fields of study differ?’
‘Cedric deals with the history of the Wych folk and Tanaren itself, whereas I am more concerned with the founding and history of the empire of Chira and its wars of succession and especially in its interactions with us. With regards to your circumstances, it is the histories of the Wych folk that appear to be the most pertinent.’
‘Please sit down both of you and tell me what you know.’
They complied. Ulian drank some ale and started to speak.
‘Let us begin with the double-headed serpent, so ably depicted by Alys here.’ He unfolded her drawing on to the table. Ceriana, of course, had never seen it and so eagerly drank in all the details. Alys was a very able artist – that was obvious. Every scale of the serpent was rendered in full detail, and it had fins, too ... or were they tiny wings? Its two heads appeared to be conflicting with each other; both had their mouths open and were facing each other as though engaged in a battle for supremacy. The ring was not a regular circle either, the serpent’s tail folded and coiled in such a way as to make the ring somewhat uncomfortable to wear, at least that’s how Ceriana saw it. She turned her attention back to the professor.
‘This design is common in Wych folk jewellery. It depicts the great Black Dragon, Azhanion, the first creature to be given life in this world – that is in Wych lore obviously. Please note that my references to Wych mythology should in no way be taken as heresy on my part; I am merely quoting their beliefs here. Their religion has one god only, Zhun; he gave life to all things and in his first creation he wanted to reflect the eternal conflict in all things and how it was necessary to bring balance to the world. Hence the two-headed dragon attempting to devour itself.’
‘But why would a man take to wearing such a thing?’ she asked.
‘A good question. A degree of supposition is required here, but millennia ago the Wych folk lived much closer to many human societies; there was even trade between us and trade can also involve exchanges of beliefs and ideas. Why should it not be that some men adopted the beliefs of an older, wiser civilization? But there is more to this than that.’ He signed to Alys, who opened a book that had been sitting on the table in front of her to a certain marked page.
‘A man in black who shaves his hair? A strange creature indeed. This set me to looking at Cedric’s tomes concerning ancient religions, cults and their practitioners. I must confess it was something of a frustrating dead end until Alys discovered a page Cedric had marked in a tome called Cults of Death and Believers in the Great Cleansing, written by a Brother Merkel around the time of the Wych Wars some eight hundred years ago.’
‘The Great Cleansing?’
‘Oh it is a reference to the end of the world, something that transpires in a spectacular and unpleasant manner of course. Unlike ourselves, who believe that we are on a path to ultimate enlightenment when all the secrets of the world will be laid bare for everyone to understand, these cults often see mankind as a repository of all that is evil in this world, whose sin and wickedness can only be purged through fiery destruction. They see themselves as catalysts for such an eventuality.’
‘What? They think they can bring about the end of the world? So they are nothing more than mad heretics then?’ Ceriana was incredulous, her eyes wide.
‘Deluded rather than mad, I fear. Anyway this brother Merkel was a ship’s priest who travelled extensively in the south around the steaming jungles and volcanic islands of western Koze; I shall quote this passage from his book:
‘We were detained on this island, one which arises out of the azure ocean like a great jagged tooth, bereft of trees and almost sheer-sided, accessible only through a cave in which there is limited mooring for some three fishing vessels. Once the ship was secured by lines one of the inhabitants of this isle led us back out of the cave on to a stairway that climbed like a thin white line to the very summit, traversing the cliff side, into the crevice of the tooth where their temple was constructed. The steps numbered in their thousands, with no guide rail to protect against a slip and fall into the buffeting waves beneath. We were told later that only those judged worthy survive the climb, though he did not specify who was doing the judging. It took us some hours before, hewn out of the rock, was a stone temple. It had two great towers, the crown of hewn out of the rock, was a stone temple. It had two great towers, the crown of each being carved into a gaping reptilian maw. Between each tower, on sheltered land, was a green stretch of trees and gardens surrounded by water butts where herbs and vegetables the like of which I had never seen before were grown. We were greeted there by a man who, like every other man there, wore a black robe with every follicle of hair having been removed from his body. He proceeded to explain the tenets of his religion.’
‘Their ships,’ Ceriana asked earnestly. ‘Does he describe their ships?’
‘Um, somewhere.’ Ulian glanced up and down, flicking over the page. ‘Only briefly, unfortunately – ‘dragon-prowed and winged...’; that is it, I am afraid.’
She sat back in her chair. The professor was on the right tracks, it seemed. ‘Continue, please.’
‘Ah yes, now where was I? ...
‘He welcomed us to the Isle of Xvirra, a secluded place where the study of the ancient true religion could continue unabated. I asked him what the goal of that study was exactly. His reply was as portentous as I had come to expect from such cults – the destruction of all false gods and their unholy followers and the re-establishment of the ancient beliefs as taught to them by the Aelves. When I asked him how such a thing could be achieved he smiled knowingly and whispered “Wouldn’t you like to know.” ’
Ulian looked at Ceriana. ‘There is a lot of waffle about how he was shown their temple and watched their religious services and even looked at their books of lore, which had been either stolen from or bequeathed by the Aelves, but nothing more that pertains to your situation, I fear. The man you discovered was a pr
iest of Xvirra. What he was doing at Tanaren, I am afraid this book does not say.’
‘Why wear black? Why do they shave themselves?’
‘I believe they wear black in honour of the Black Dragon, and they shave themselves as a sign of purity – they believe hair to be unclean. The Wych folk have no hair except that which they have on their heads. They are attempting to be even purer than the Wych folk so it seems.’ He grunted, involuntarily.
‘And now, my Lady, I have to ask you as to the second artefact you have discovered, the one that affects your health as your letter relates. Maybe there is something in this book that may explain it.’
Ceriana nodded. There was a servant waiting by the door. She beckoned him over. ‘Can you ask my husband to attend us here; he is probably in his quarters.’ While they waited, she asked, ‘So these people worship the Black Dragon?’
‘Yes, and its subordinates, the five other dragons created after the first.’
‘What dragons were these?’
‘They represent some of the major elements – earth, water, fire, lightning and ice. All of them are immortal. Once they acted as the custodians of the world, but then things went wrong, as they always do, and now they sleep, for ever.’
The Forgotten War Page 34
