Felmere shook his head. ‘More and more bad news; every day we are delayed strengthens them. Well, my man, what is your other news.’
‘Well, my Lord, not two days ago, just as I was about to leave, more men came up from the east. Some heavy cavalry but mainly infantry, mercenaries by the look of most of them – maybe a thousand in total – but it was not that I came to tell you.
The last contingent to arrive were Arshuman, well-armed and drilled. The thing was, though, my Lord: they marched under a black-and-yellow banner with a red sun at its centre. I have not seen it before but I am pretty sure it is the banner of...’
‘The King!’ said Felmere. ‘King Aganosticlan’s banner.’
‘Keth’s blood,’ hissed Reynard through his teeth. ‘He never leaves his palace. What by all the Gods would he be doing here? Are you sure it wasn’t a ruse? Are you sure he was with them?’
‘I cannot be certain, sir, but there was a man there being carried on a litter and surrounded by staff, servants, courtiers or what have you. I was pretty sure it was him.’
‘He knows this is his last throw,’ said Felmere hungrily. ‘His general is dead so he has come to inspire his men. It sounds as if they will almost match us in numbers, but if we could get at their king it will hardly matter. By all the demons of the furnace, we have to bring them to battle now; we are so close to outright victory.’
As he spoke, Reynard looked up to the heavens. To his surprise, he felt nothing, no rain on his face, nothing stinging his eyes. As he watched, the incessant grey blanket of cloud, solid and unbroken for nearly two weeks, was finally pierced by a solitary shaft of light, pushing through it like a sword thrust and hitting Reynard square on the face. The sun’s sudden warmth was like remembering an old friend and for the first time that day the lyrical call of a solitary songbird sounded in his ears.
‘Get the engineers working,’ said Felmere triumphantly. ‘They have two days to build a bridge.’ He turned to face Reynard. ‘Well, my friend, perhaps the Gods do listen to us, after all.’
Oh, the indignities one had to bear if one was king. Not only had Aganosticlan had to endure the bumpiest and most uncomfortable of journeys perched atop his litter for all to see, like one of the exotic birds in his private zoo, but it had rained incessantly the whole time. Granted the litter had a roof, carved and gilded, but it would have looked so much more glorious in sunlight, and besides it did not protect from the damp and the chill airs that made him sniffle constantly and also made his joints ache first thing in the morning.
Still, it was over now; they had arrived at camp beside a poxy, flea-ridden village that could have been little more than the white tip of a pustule on Artorus’s divine backside. Was ten years of war really for the likes of this? Of course, it wasn’t! He looked north, to the mountains and its gems and other things of beauty. This village merely provided the labourers who would extract this wealth for him, nothing more. They had carried his throne all this way for him; it was his second throne, made of a carved dark wood found in the southern jungles, and usually resided in his palace in Arshuma’s second city, Bect, which nestled in the foothills of the eastern Derannen Mountains. He was sitting in it now, sheltering in the royal pavilion, a vast lemon-coloured affair that housed many of his staff and the barely clad serving girls of which he was so fond.
Obadrian stood before him, along with the local commander, General Terze, a surprisingly young man – well, perhaps not that surprising considering the mortality rate of his generals, especially of those that displeased him.
‘Well, Obadrian, I am here just as you wished it. Do you think the Tanaren spies would have noticed my presence by now?’
‘In all probability, Your Majesty, and I am sure it will soon have the desired effect.’
‘You mean it will force them to attack against their better judgement?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty, this weather could well have meant they abandoned their plans and remained where they were, which was the last thing we wanted, but with your royal presence here it should goad them into thinking they could take you and win the war in a stroke. I believe this is what you wanted them to think, Your Majesty?’
Aganosticlan did not answer. Instead, he left his throne and walked over to an armour stand close by. It was displaying a suit of garish and utterly impractical armour that looked as if were made out of solid gold: the helmet bore two golden bird wings sweeping majestically backwards; the cuirass bore the emblem of a golden sun; its pauldrons, vambraces and gauntlets had patterns of running flames, as did its greaves and sabatons, which, like the helmet bore wings sweeping backwards from the ankle. A couple of seasoned mace-wielding warriors would have carved through it in a minute, but that was not its purpose. This was the armour of a king.
‘General Terze, you have found a man to wear this?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. We had many volunteers but have selected one that approximates closely to your size and build.’ He did not mention how the threat of a flogging had exponentially increased the number of ‘volunteers’.
‘Good, but school him in the ways of a noble. He is supposed to be me, after all; the last thing we want is for him to start picking his nose on the battlefield. Obadrian, are my evacuation plans ready?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. Should the battle seem to be going amiss, you will be taken downriver by boat for a few miles where a fast carriage awaits. The ambassador is also on hand to carry our terms of surrender to their general.’
‘Your Majesty,’ General Terze said hesitantly, ‘you surely do not think we could lose this battle?’
‘Of course not!’ snapped the King. ‘But you may come to realise one day that it is well to be prepared for every eventuality. Now, give me the troop numbers.’
‘We will have over four thousand men, Your Majesty,’ said the General. ‘The levies and mercenaries that arrived with you have greatly boosted our morale and fighting capabilities, almost as much as Your Majesty’s presence here.’
‘You are to be congratulated, Obadrian, I did not expect you to raise so many troops in so short a time. And for so little money at that.’
‘The heavy cavalry were expensive, Your Majesty,’ Obadrian intoned solemnly. ‘But I had two factors in my favour.’
‘And what, my dear chamberlain, were they?’
‘The main body of mercenaries are fighting for plunder only; they have been recruiting heavily in Arshuma but their core is from Tanaren. They have a grudge against Baron Felmere and are more interested in vengeance than anything. They call themselves “The Vipers”, Your Majesty. The second factor is far more down to Your Majesty’s own cunning. The local nobility have been much more interested in spending their own money and levying troops since some of their number have started to fall victim to um...’
‘Mysterious deaths? Assassination without motive?’
‘Exactly, Your Majesty, speaking of which I wonder as to the location of that particular ... gift that you received.’
‘Leave us, Terze. Tell the troops I will be inspecting them in the morning – ten royals to the most outstanding and ten lashes for the least. You understand?’
‘Indeed, Your Majesty.’ The general bowed low and departed.
‘Obadrian,’ the King said quietly. ‘I trust you and my household staff – you have all signed declarations to say you will have your tongues removed if you speak falsely to me after all – but my generals, well, I am not so sure about them. I purge them from time to time but little seems to work. Never mention again that we have a Kozean assassin within our midst in front of them. The information would get back to Hylas in no time, or over the river into Tanaren.’
‘I understand, Your Majesty, and ask you to forgive my impropriety.’
‘Forgiven as always, Obadrian. As for where she is now, I am damned to the furnace if I know. She has been given her mark and I haven’t seen her since. At a guess I will see her once more when her job is done and once again to be given her second task, and I wou
ld imagine that would be it. Her loyalties are not with us, after all.’
‘Of course, Your Majesty. If I may confess, I always found her presence somewhat unnerving.’
‘Then she is doing her job. In her homeland her function is to terrify and cow populace and nobility alike. Did she complete all the names on your list?’
‘Indeed, Your Majesty. There were five names and none of them lived more than a week once she knew them.’
‘Excellent, Obadrian. I think we can trust her to take care of business at her end; all we need do now is concentrate on the Tanaren army, I expect them to be here by the end of the week.’
Obadrian did not reply. Rather he looked nervously at the floor and shuffled his feet. Aganosticlan could read the signs perfectly. There was little about the chamberlain he didn’t know, especially concerning his night visits to the good-looking young men of his court.
‘What is it, Chamberlain? I see something is concerning you.’
‘Well, Your Majesty, it is just that our army may well match the size of our enemy’s, but ... they have mages and we do not. When we lost that last battle it was the mages that landed the decisive blow. We were holding them until they sent down terrible bolts of lightning from the sky.’
The King resumed his seat on the throne. He fixed Obadrian with a wicked smile.
‘I have it on very good authority that any mages they have will not be taking to the field against us again.’
‘You mean they will be taken care of? What authority do you have exactly, Your Majesty?
‘Very good authority. There will be no mage left alive to face us in battle here, take my word on it.’
41
The caravan was moving again. Over an hour ago it had become stuck in an old water-filled wheel rut, and as the horses had tried to pull it free all it had done was turn the churned-up mud into a liquid morass that clung tightly to the caravan, sucking it downwards and holding it firm. The Knights of the Thorn had poles out, trying to ease the wheel free, but it had been lengthy and back-breaking work, by the end of which their fine white tabards were covered in water and filth.
Cheris and Marcus had offered to help but Sir Norton firmly and politely turned them away. She realised that she had no magic to aid in extricating wheels from quicksand; a pity, it would have made her a fortune, if she did. Instead, she sat next to Marcus in the self-same vehicle they had taken from Tanaren. Her head was buried in a book but she wasn’t reading.
Her thoughts were with Anaya, who was fast asleep on the other seat. She had been excited about taking the two of them away to her cottage for a couple of days when a bout of illness had struck the army. Tired as she was dealing with the injured from the battle, she was in no shape to cope with a new wave of casualties. She had been treating a couple of new arrivals when she had collapsed. Her nurses diagnosed exhaustion and ordered her to rest. Cheris and Marcus tried to act as her locum but their rudimentary understanding of healing magic aided the nurses very little. Baron Felmere himself had stepped in and told them to take her away for a few days, as the army was bogged down with no prospect of leaving soon. And so yesterday they had left the camp. Sir Norton knew the way and had told them that they would arrive either later that day or early the following day. They were allowed just one full day in the cottage before they had to return. Cheris doubted that it was long enough for Anaya.
‘She has slept all day,’ Cheris said to Marcus. ‘Poor lady, she has been taxed beyond endurance.’
‘I have written to the college asking, no, insisting that they cancel her tour of duty and send someone else in her stead.’ Marcus gloomily cupped his face with his hands. ‘I will be having strong words with the Magisters’ Council on my return. They have broken so many protocols and just because it is far easier to keep her here than replace her. Someone really should answer for it.’
‘And we have another battle to go back to in a few days and I am hardly in great shape myself.’
‘Your rib?’
‘It is a lot better but I still get a twinge from time to time, if I get up too quickly or laugh too loud. Fortunately out here there is little chance of the latter happening often.’
‘Tired of the outside world already?’
‘Yes and no. After the battle it felt like a kick in the teeth seeing the villagers kill their own people and brand women just for sleeping with the wrong man; I mean why fight to try to end the war, if the victors are so excited by violence they just want more and more of it.’
‘You have never lived under oppression. The people of Grest lived in fear of the Arshuman overlords and of those of our people who collaborated with them. If a people are kept at heel with violence, then at some point they will mete out the same in return. I am not agreeing with it, or condoning their actions, but it is the way it always has been and probably always will be, unless something drastic happens to human nature and men are turned into beatific purveyors of wisdom and mercy.’
‘Stop sermonising. Just say that people are generally horrible and leave it at that.’
‘Very well, Cheris. People are generally horrible and beyond redemption. Feel better now?’
‘Nobody is beyond redemption. If they were, then there would be no need for the Gods. If people cannot be steered in a direction that could change their morality, then the Gods have no purpose.’
Marcus laughed. ‘You are not having a theological discussion with an Artoran priest here. I know you have doubts about the Gods, as do I. But be aware that we are in a tiny minority and to say such things out loud on the mainland is close to heresy, a crime punishable by a very nasty death.’
‘I don’t know, Marcus.’ She sighed. ‘My beliefs change with the weather. I see something to make me doubt their existence, then ten minutes later I see something that reaffirms their existence. It is something for which, however long you go looking for an answer, a definitive one will never be found. Faith is of the heart, after all, and is not something that can be quantified in a dusty old book. It requires neither proof nor disproof. It just is. Like the standing stones at the college – however much you push at them, they will not move either way.’
‘But the stones exist; we can all see and touch them. Belief, however, is amorphous and invisible and is never the same from person to person. Does faith even require definition? As you say, you can dance circles around the question till the day you die and never come up with an answer.’
‘The day you die is the day you finally receive proof, of course. If Xhenafa stands before you and takes your hand to lead you one way or another, then you have your answer. If only it could be communicated to the living.’
‘Then all priests would be out of a job and begging on the streets.’
‘And all their buildings could be sold along with their gold and the poor need never go hungry again. Praise Elissa for miracles that will never happen.’
‘And may the Gods protect us from blasphemers and those cursed with the gift of magic.’
‘As it must be. For ever. Fancy a pastry? Sir Norton picked a few up in Grest. I was going to surprise you with them.’
‘Keeping secrets from your mentor? You wicked woman! Place them in my custody immediately.’
They ate the sweet cakes discussing this and that. The weather became a topic, as this was the first day in a long time absolutely free from rain. They both recalled some of the dazzling electrical storms they had witnessed on the Isle of Tears. Cheris remembered the first one she saw, aged twelve.
‘People were terrified,’ she said. ‘I had never seen people run to their cells so quickly. But it was different with me. It must have been the first time I realised I had an affinity, an empathy, with such power. I felt no fear at all, just excitement. I crept up to the balcony. It was completely deserted. It was strange; I felt like something was willing me on, compelling me to open the door. There was no one to stop me, so that is what I did.
‘The shock when that door opened was incredible. The wind was pin
ning me against the wall and I could barely shut the door again. And the rain was so fierce that the balcony was nearly ankle deep in water, even with it pouring out of the drainage holes. But then I looked about me. Oh, Marcus, it was beautiful, to see the night clouds backlit with coruscating fire, watching as it struck from the skies into the boiling sea – it was vibrant, primeval. I had never felt my senses tingling like that ever before. I watched the storm move over the clouds, the crashing of the thunder getting ever louder and then, and I probably shouldn’t tell you this, I took off my robe and stretched out my arms to the storm; I was gasping with the excitement. I stayed like that until the storm began to move away and the noise and light went north to Tanaren. Then I dressed in my sodden clothes and rushed back to my cell. No one ever knew, not till now anyway.’
She saw Marcus’s quizzical look.
‘What? I was twelve years old. My body was changing. You know how sensitive girls are to mana at that age. It is why we are so much better at our art than men.’ She set her chin defensively while wishing she had been a bit more discreet.
‘When you return to the college and start mentoring others, will you advise all the young ladies in your charge to do the same thing?’ She saw his barely suppressed smile and realised he was teasing her.
‘Why not?’ she smiled. ‘Perhaps naked lightning worship is the future of our art.’
They laughed together softly, two old friends sharing a joke, when suddenly the prone form on the bed opposite started to stir.
‘I have been asleep, haven’t I?’
Cheris got up and moved over to her, crouching on the floor next to her bed.
‘You could say that – you have slept all day. According to Sir Norton, we are not far away from your house.’
A strange expression briefly crossed Anaya’s face; it was almost one of dread as if it was the last place on earth she wanted to get to. But it passed almost instantly. She smiled at Cheris. ‘I didn’t realise it had been that long.’
The Forgotten War Page 58
